


Snow White's Iron Ring

by ChaosController



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Bioluminescence, Blood, Centaurs, Chemical reactions that create an acid like substance, Dark Magic, Decapitation, Disembowelment, Faeries - Freeform, Fire, Giant Spiders, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hallucinations, M/M, Magic, Magic Ring, Mentions of Seelie and Unseelie Courts, Minor Character Death, Mutilation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sellsword Roman, Shapeshifting, Threats of Violence, Trolls, entertaining trolls, graphic description of gore, have i mentioned there's magic?, killing giant spiders, lots of blood and gore, or magic whichever you prefer, prince logan, we're going to war kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-05-21 18:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 73,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14920704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaosController/pseuds/ChaosController
Summary: Roman was just fine with where he was. Thinking of the past of a night and slaughtering people during the day. Then King Duhn propositioned him with a worthwhile quest and he accepted.Logan had been locked up for years with just his ring and the sounds of the ocean for company, now he's free. Free from the king, banished from his home, and running towards a better life.(Snow White and the Huntsman AU)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings and welcome to the newest fic from moi. Yes, it's that time again where I flood a tiny part of this community with my trashy works and AUs. The flavour of the month(s) is "Snow White and the Huntsman" with a Logince twist. The first chapter is basically setting everything up, mostly backstory and getting to know the characters. If you think the ratings aren't suitable, please let me know so I can change them (and same goes for the tags). And to accompany this, if you see mistakes feel free to point them out so I can change them :)
> 
> There is a lot of blood in the first third of the chapter, so skip that if you're not comfortable with...well it's basically mass homicide, nothing super graphic but just...just to be safe.
> 
> So one thing before we start this off, see that title? Yeah that thing that's above this note. See that? That's a work in progress title, I haven't actually figured out a title. If someone thinks up a better title, feel free to let me know :)
> 
> Anyway, onto the new story:

Roman blinked wearily, mind leaving him as he listened to the king drone on and on about something he was meant to be doing. He had the urge to move his hand as if it were a mouth, his own making no noise as he moved his lips to the boring speech. He’d heard similar ones’ thousands of times and each time they were more boring than the last; the gist was that something in the kingdom needed fixing and he was the only one who could fix it because of such and such. Boring, as usual. The only thing that was different about this one was that he was a year older, thirty-four was it? He couldn’t remember, years blurred together when he had no need, or want, to remember the past years of lonely hunting and foraging by himself. Being the go-to man for every king and queen and royal that needed a problem solved. 

With a small sigh, he recalled his most precious memories; he was a child, playing with the one person he ever truly loved – a boy whose name escaped him – in a garden with a large white tree in the centre. Knights and princesses, or something along those lines, that’s what they had played. The boy – brown haired, brown eyed, bewitching and beautiful – had played the part of a maiden in distress, but always insisted on historical accuracy, he’d been pedantic about such things. Always the bookworm, never the fighter. Roman almost grimaced as the memory turned sour, the day he was forced to leave behind all he loved for a fate worse than death. The day the boy’s parents found them playing, demanded he leave, and forced him out into the world beyond the kingdom. He’d roamed for years, forgetting his way as he walked and travelled, earned himself a name that would do him well in years to come. 

Now here he was, twenty-something years older and wise to the ways of the world that others his age couldn’t even begin to imagine. He’d left innocence behind with his love, destroyed all hope of a happy and lively future, and made himself a name that could scare the pants off pretty much every other petty sellsword. Roman of the Grim Forest, that’s what most called him, those polite enough to not whisper behind his back when he strolled into the kingdom or town of the month. Others, those less polite, chose a darker name for him; Prince of Blades. He liked the ring that the title of prince had but could never see himself as one in a million years. Sure, he had fantasies, sitting atop a golden throne with a goblet made of crystal and a crown burdened with more gems than any mine could give in a year. He had dreams, aspirations, hopes and fears, but all they saw was a sword willing to do anything for money. And he had, once upon a time, he’d killed innocent people for a few pieces of gold. Murdered thousands for even less, millions for a measly scrap of bread. But he was never weighed down by the remorse or the grief of what he’d done. His job didn’t allow him the luxury to feel anything, lest of all guilt over actions – past or present. 

“So, Roman of the Grim Forest, do you accept my offer?”, the old windbag finally asked and Roman looked up a little at the king. King Oversta; round all over, covered in red and gold cloth, a crown made of gold antlers with a single red ruby set upon a head of greying brown hair, eyes misted over with cloudy white. The man was old, getting older, and yet in all his life he couldn’t muster up the courage or strength to put down a few rowdy villagers. He was close to death, Roman could sense it, but sensing and seeing something happen were two different things. King Oversta was a coward, sitting atop a throne he’d earned by deceiving and lying, but he was a paying customer so Roman was going to do his job. 

The sellsword bowed his head a little, dipped an arm and pulled out his sword, the soft hiss of metal being released from its casing a pleasing sound to his ears. In all his years he’d never quite gotten over how good it felt to pull his sword from its scabbard and put it to use. Of course, other weapons were available and many times he’d found an axe more useful than a sword, but for today his trusty blade would do. The metal gleamed in the light, white banding the silver as the sun hit the blade just right. With his sword in his hand, pommel and hilt resting on the outermost portions of his leather glove, Roman turned and stalked out of the king’s hall. His hand loosened and re-gripped every few steps, leather gloves warm against the cool grip of the sword. Roman’s fingers tingled with the same energy he felt every time he walked into a fight, ready for anything as his shot nerves began to react to the situation. He’d walk in, slaughter the lot like a fox in a closed roost, and be out in time for dinner. A smirk tweaked the corners of his lips, dark and unsettling as he neared the edge of the town a few meters from the castle. He knew where the people he was after were, it all depended on them now. Would they be stupid enough to fight or smart enough to run from him? To run from the Prince of Blades? 

A dark chuckle tumbled from his lips as Roman approached the entrance to the town, streets empty of all but a few chickens. Perhaps they were long gone by now, or perhaps they were prepared to fight for their beliefs. Martyrs, his favourite prey. 

Another head tumbled off its neck, blood gushing from the wound as Roman wiped the thick substance off his sword with the rogue’s clothing. Red smeared against the dirty brown cloth, the sword’s sharp blade catching and cutting through the burlap consistency with ease. A small smirk lifted the edges of Roman’s lips as he thumbed his cheek, splatters of red dusting the peach surface before they smeared across both cheek and leather glove. Roman checked the glove, eyes dancing over the dark mark that stained the fingertips. Blood, he’d once detested even the thought of spilling an innocent’s blood, now he could barely withstand the craving for the spillage of it. Killing, murdering, destroying lives for money had become an addiction for him. The coppery smell that stung his nose, the red that stained his clothes, the burning of heated liquid on his cold skin, he longed for it all, needed to feel the blood of another on his hands, needed to see the life drain from another’s eyes. He’d stop at killing without reason, no money no death, but for the right price any head would roll. 

Roman pulled his sword back, sheathing it and turning away from the carnage he’d left behind for the crows to pick at. Mangled corpses littered the scene as rivers of red mingled like the veins they’d once inhabited. Drops of crimson splattered every surface, lines forming where the droplets had slid down with the force of gravity. He’d made a mess, but they’d resisted. Had they gone quietly, perhaps even bargained with Roman to allow them to live in peace somewhere else, he’d have given them that. The freedom of life, a wasted gift by Roman’s standards. With a twist of his upper lip, the sellsword turned his smirk into a scowl. He sniffed lightly, blinked once and kicked up a stone that tumbled a little before landing with a wet splat in the puddle of mud a few feet away. Roman let his eyes drift to either side of him as he continued walking, trekking around the mud puddle as he made his way back to the castle he’d left not ten minutes ago. The sword blinked and stopped, ears perked for any noise as his eyes landed on an alehouse. With another quirk of his lips Roman ventured towards it, intent on gathering supplies as the town would no longer be needing them. 

The inside of the public house was neater than the outside, little tables set up with chairs. Candles still lit and perched on the walls while the floor creaked with age. The actual counter and barrels were in almost pristine condition, something Roman found pleasing as he fished out a metal container and filled it with the alcoholic beverage. He took a swig, then another, before downing the entire canister and refilling it with more of the sweet, sweet nectar he craved as much as bloodshed. Though he’d never admit it, he’d prefer to be paid in booze than in coin, drinking his sorrows away until he died of starvation or overindulgence. Too many years on the road had given him a fair taste of the poison and he couldn’t bear to part ways with the liquor that sloshed around in their wooden shells. The coin he earned would be spent on repairs and food, the liquor he’d steal later on, or he’d hustle some poor bastard into buying him his fill of the stuff. He didn’t need shelter, didn’t need love, didn’t need a partner or a horse or anything like that. He’d wonder sometimes, in drunken dreams, if he ought to buy a horse or find someone to ease his burdens, but when he awoke to the world he’d remember his one true burden and forget about anything that could keep him company on the long winter nights and heated summer days. 

The container clattered softly as Roman screwed the lid on, gloves slipping as blood and alcohol mixed together in a slimy concoction. Roman grit his teeth before giving in and raising his left hand to his mouth, nipping down on the middle digit and sliding his hand out to screw the lid on before setting it down to put his glove back on. The taste of leather and blood made his face scrunch up, copper mixing with tanned skin and alcohol. Roman spat out as much as possible before grabbing his container and looking around the rest of the public house. Much the same as any other it had little to offer besides the beverage and warmth of shelter. With a sigh Roman sat down in a chair, swinging his feet up onto the table and reclining back as the warmth of the candles took over the cold and chill he’d gained from the outside world. Roman’s tongue glided over the front of his teeth, coming to rest at the back of his mouth before his eyes closed over. Images of his past mingled with those of his present and he wondered if his old friend would be proud of what he’d done. Surely not, but he had the argument of survival on his side. 

A creak from the door made Roman open one eye, raising an eyebrow slightly as a hooded figure walked quickly through the door and into the establishment. They moved on light feet, black cloak trailing them as they walked to the stairs at the back of the room. Roman wondered briefly if he should consider them a threat, but paid mind to the fact they didn’t seem to notice him and closed his eye again as the stairs creaked under their weight. A few seconds passed, creaking sounding above Roman as the figure walked around upstairs, perhaps searching for something or perhaps looking for refuge. Roman figured they were searching for something as a second later they descended the stairs and made for the door, footsteps louder this time as if trying to escape from something. The sword or hire let a small smirk pass over his lips as his chair made a creak and the figure turned to him with a gasp. They stilled and Roman let out a puff of air from his nose, lips moving to form a larger smirk as his eyes darkened. 

“Looking for something?”, the sellsword asked, eyes trailing over the dark figure before quirking an eyebrow upwards in a questioning motion. The figure remained silent and still, seemingly sussing out their next move and determining if Roman was a threat. Roman closed his eyes and leaned back, “I’m not going to hurt you. Done my job, but I’d suggest you run along before I take a swing at you for interrupting my nap.”

There was silence for a long while before a creak was heard. Roman’s face scrunched up as the warmth above him disappeared and he opened his eyes to two looking down at him; brown as his own with a hint of bronze, sparkling like stars and set into a pleasant looking face. Rosy cheeks accompanied by silver rimmed spectacles and shaggy brown hair. Roman resisted the urge to sit up immediately, his bones buzzing with life. The figure, a mildly handsome one at that, had yet to pose a threat, but their looming nature still unsettled Roman. 

“Sir, can I ask a favour?”, the figure enquired, blinking once or twice as Roman stared up at him. Roman’s lips twitched downwards into a frown, still trying to gauge whether the figure posed any immediate threat as he took the chance to nod once in acceptance. “I require a place to stay the night, may I stay here?”

“Do what you like. Not my alehouse”, Roman responded, drawing his arms into him and crossing them over his chest with a deepening frown. The face was familiar for reasons unknown to him, but the manners the figure had were real enough. The figure pulled back, stepping away from Roman with a hint of a smile on their lips before they moved towards the stairs once more. Roman bristled a little at the quietness of the figure, combined with their calmness in his presence; didn’t they know who he was? Roman supposed that if they’d been living under a rock or in a cave for the past twenty years, then perhaps yes, they may not have heard of him or seen him, but Roman was all about introductions. “Pardon me, good sir, but may I request a name?”

The figure turned to him, halfway up the stairs with their cloak and hood still firmly in place. With a small sigh the figure pulled off their hood and Roman took in the full extent of their features; hair a lighter brown than Roman’s, freckles dotting their cheeks, eyes full of a bright light that he’d only ever seen in children – “Patton. My name is Patton.”

“Roman. What are you doing here? Surely you know that this town is under the rule of King Oversta and I have orders to kill all who make their home here”, Roman said, taking his feet off the table so he could sit up properly on the chair. Patton merely nodded a little, mind seemingly somewhere else entirely. Roman sighed and stood, taking out his poison of choice and downing the container in one fell swoop before making his way to the barrel for a refill. “Patton, I suggest you leave first thing tomorrow. I’ll be gone before dawn and the king’s guard will be here shortly after to check I’ve done my job. They’ll kill you on sight if you’re still here, so sleep well, but be gone before daybreak.”

“Thank you for your words of wisdom, Roman”, Patton murmured softly, ascending the stairs quickly after that. Roman watched him leave, downing another half of his canister before refilling it. He could have sworn he heard the sound of hooves on wood, but he could tell he was nearly drunk and drunkenness could do some things to a man. He stumbled back to the chair and slumped into it, taking another swig before slipping the container back into his pocket and relaxing into the wood seat. He’d need his rest if he were to deal with the king tomorrow. 

He dreamt of the boy, light brown hair, a face that shone like the sun, eyes with a depth that rivalled that of the ocean. They were playing together under a tree of white, he’d grasp at the branches, pulling himself higher as the boy below him watched in disbelief. His hand closed around something smooth and red, shiny and firm. Then he was on the ground with his hands behind his back and the boy in front of him, eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. He pulled his hands back around and apple clasped in their grip, offering the boy the first bite of the first apple of the season. The boy took the apple, bit in and handed it back for Roman to taste. The crisp crunch, the sourness that came before the sweet, the red that contrasted so well with the white inside. It was one of his favourite memories to date, a replay of something that made him so very happy. The memory faded and in its place was the last memory before his life took a turn for the worse. The boy stood beneath the white tree, eyes searching the sky as he chatted on about dragons and their mythology, but he was more enthralled with what was to come. Roman felt the cool metal under his warm fingers, pinching and pulling at it as his friend bathed in the light of the sun, words pulled from rose petal lips as his mind ran a mile a minute. He turned to Roman, a smile on his face before Roman offered him the ring. It was nothing special, a band of shaped iron too big for his finger at the moment, but the excitement and wonder on his face paled all expectations Roman had thought of. They were hugging, then there was shouting, and then Roman woke up. 

 

Logan traced the lines of mortar holding the stones together, he could pretty much trace them on paper verbatim after all these years of being holed up in the same cell. However many years in a tiny cell with a tinier window that overlooked the ocean, a fire place with a grate to block escape set halfway up the chimney, a door made of solid wood, and several guards posted at various points beyond the door. He’d known the layout of the castle for years and now his knowledge of the towers, the twisting corridors and empty rooms, was fading. His memories turned to ashes the longer he remained in this room and there was no stopping it. 

The man was close to thirty and already giving up on life, knowing his only way out of this room was with death holding his hand. But even if he was on his way to giving up, he hadn’t yet given up completely. A small part of him still remembered what it was like to have the sun on his face, feel the warmth of the world surrounding him, to feel the blood rush through his veins as he ran from place to place in the castle, dodging guards and columns until he pulled to a stop for his friend. The name escaped him, like almost everything else about his life before the cell, but he remembered the sun-tanned skin, the golden flecked eyes, shiny brown hair and boisterous laughter. He remembered the ring he’d been given, the ring that he played with on a daily basis as a symbol of hope. A symbol to not give up, not give in, never relinquish power for weakness. 

Logan pulled his hand away from the stones and mortar to fiddle with the ring around his right index finger. The slim metal band has kept him company for however long he was kept up here – twenty years or so, he thought – but however long it’d been the metal has always been there like a promise. Deep down he knew that the ring was just that, a ring made of iron, but he prayed and hoped that the ring delivered some protection to him. Logan was alive, but he had little else to make him believe the ring had power beyond his own comprehension. But in the words of someone older if not wiser than him “belief is half the battle”. Logan had always made fun of him for using the phrase, but now he kept it close to his heart, fearing what may happen if the words were lost to him. 

A clatter of metal on metal, creaking and the sound of feet on stone made Logan take a few steps back from the wall. He sat heavily on the mass of straw and blankets he’d fashioned into a bed as the door swung open for a guard. Logan grit his teeth together and tugged a blanket over his head as the sound of feet on stone crept closer to him. A hand shook his shoulder roughly, forcing him to turn onto his back and look up at the one that had “woken” him. 

“Food’s here”, a gruff voice said, empty helmet open for Logan to see. For many, seeing a suit of armour and leather with no one inside it may be a nightmare, but Logan had grown used to the fact that the guards were little more than empty puppets. A suit of armour, a sigil, and a spell was all it took for his father to raise a phantom army. Who needed actual people when you could have suit of armour that couldn’t die? 

“Good morning to you father”, Logan muttered as the wooden platter was set on the ground, bowl and spoon wobbling a little as the force of being set down rattled them to their cores. Logan felt like that more often than not, like his entire core had been taken and shaken, turned and tossed, pinched and pulled until nothing remained but a husk. 

“Eat. I will not have you withering away”, the phantom muttered, turning on its heel and retreating from the room. The door slammed shut behind it, locked in a matter of seconds while Logan watched from his makeshift bed. The man eyed the bowl carefully before diving for it, inhaling the food with the ferocity of a starving man while his mind wandered to better times. 

When the food was gone he stood and moved back to the wall and window. A bird perched a little way outside the window, chirping softly to its companions as Logan watched and listened. With steady movements, Logan moved his ringed hand out and gently stroked the bird’s side, a calm flowing over him as warm feathers ruffled under his ministrations. Then bird looked at Logan, as if gauging his intentions and looked down at its perch before hopping away and taking flight. Logan watched it leave, heart aching for the same freedom before he noticed what the bird had been perched on. A rusty nail poked out of the stone, far enough from the window to not be seen but close enough to him that he could reach it if he tried. He spent the better part of the morning prying it from the stone and felt relief when it finally gave way. The next move he made was to grab the spoon from his meal earlier, carving it slowly to a sharp point before descending upon the lock in the door. 

It took the better part of a night, but Logan’s relief swelled when he heard the tell-tale sound of a lock clicking open. His father would be asleep, not expecting any attacks, so the guards would be much like the suits of armour Logan had seen as a child – still and lifeless. He ducked under open visors and steered clear of any suits that may be able to see him before diving out of the front doors and into the cool night air. He almost succumbed to the thought of freedom before a hand made of metal grabbed his upper arm. Logan turned in time to find a phantom guard holding his arm, the thundering of feet echoing from the castle as more began to surge from the doors. He’d forgotten there may be guards outside of the castle and now he was paying for it. 

Logan twisted out of the grip, dodged another hand and ran for the descending metal gate. If he made it out he’d be free, but he needed to escape first. His feet slipped in the mud, hands coming up as he fell to the ground. He spat out what he could and scrambled to his feet, rushing and tripping his way to the gate just as it closed with a loud thud. Logan swung around, ducked under another set of phantom guard arms and sprinted for the next best exit – the sewer system. He could see the entry; a small semicircle hole with a stone brick outline that he knew would dive down and let him out near the beach. With a final large breath Logan dived and took the plunge into the hole, water stinging his closed eyes as he struggled to the surface for air. Seaweed floated atop the churning grey waters, pulling him this way and that as he tried to swim for the light he could see. The sounds of his father yelling a thousand-fold drowned out by the sound of the sea, waves crashing in his ears as he gripped the edge of the hole to the world outside the castle and breathed in the smell of freedom. He choked a little, gagging on the scent that invaded his sinuses but pulled himself out further, staring down at the jagged rocks that lined the gigantic rock the castle was set upon. 

Freedom was a mere thought, a dream, only a few hours ago, now he was so close to living it. Logan took the plunge, praying he would be safe as he flung himself off the side of the rock and into the ocean below. Cold waters swept over him, salt water sinking into his skin, waves sweeping him in and out as he pulled himself to the surface for air. He found a small rock and held on for dear life as the stars above him twinkled and the round, silver moon shone brightly on his escape. The phantom guards were searching the beach with torches, fire tipped arrows soaring overhead as Logan plunged below the surface once more and swam like an injured dog to a small rocky alcove. He pulled himself into the shelter and shivered as waves poured water over him, pounding his flesh with a sharp knife-like force. Logan stayed his ground, nails chipping as the rocks below tore at flesh and cloth. He didn’t really know how long he stayed there, but eventually the waves pulled back from their attack on his body, arrows no longer tore through the night sky like orange stars searching for him. Hopefully his father would think him dead, drowned at sea or eaten by whatever lurked below the surface. 

The sun tickled the morning sky with ripples of pink and blue, orange tinting the clouds and soaking into Logan’s ice-cold skin with a familiar warmth he hadn’t felt in years. Relief and hope washed over him as he fiddled with the ring, a small smile turning bigger and brighter as he realised he’d done the impossible and escaped his father. Tears rushed down his face, burning his already stinging eyes with something far warmer than ocean water. A hand clasped over his mouth to stifle the sobs as a feeling of watered down euphoria cemented itself in his bones. He couldn’t help but fall backwards, spine hitting the rocky alcove sharply enough to tear off some skin but all of that paled in comparison to the elation, the intoxicating happiness that flowed through him at the thought of finally escaping. He was free from all the drudgery of his past life, but the harsh reality of his new one began to set in as the sun fully rose on the shoreline and, with weary eyes, Logan saw the phantom guards scouring the beach and rocks, heading his way. 

It took more strength than he’d like to admit for him to finally stand and creep out of the alcove, dipping back into the water as he swam for the next closest beach away from the guards and castle. The waves that lapped at him were softer than they had been hours before, peaceful and calm they carried him along the coastline until he reached a beach the guards had not yet taken to. He pulled himself ashore, staggering as his strength left him and he fell to his knees in the sun-bleached sand. Chilled air entered and exited his lungs, cooling his throat and veins as the sun burned bright into his skin. Logan’s hands dug into the sand, clenching and unclenching as he steadied his breathing, finally finding some stability before he attempted to stand and walk again. The walk was less unwavering and more a slow, jolty gait as his feet tripped over one another, sandy indents destroyed as his feet tried to find something sturdy. 

Another trip to the ground made Logan stop for a second, hands and knees buried in wet grains as he grit his teeth and steeled his mind. This time when he arose to walk, he didn’t stumble but he did slip a little as he climbed the rocks up the beach to dryer land. Hands gripped mud and dirt, grass all but gone, Logan pulled himself onto the slope and turned onto his back to look at the blue sky above. The sun shone brightly down on him, white light penetrating his skin and sinking into his bones to warm them for a second before a harsh, cold wind ripped the warmth from him. Logan turned back over onto his stomach, hands digging into the dirt and mud as he pushed himself up the slope and onto a plateau. There he pushed himself up to stand before beginning a hobbling walk to something akin to a road; a wide section of dirt wiped clear of vegetation the wound from the castle to a small, far off town. Logan nodded to himself, twisted the ring on his finger and set off at a slow pace towards the small town.

Logan would never confess to how many times he tripped on his way to the town, mud soaking into his clothes and staining his face as he moved forward along the rock speckled path. By the time he’d reached the outskirts his hands and feet were a mess of the dark, earthy substance no matter how many times he tried to wipe it off on his pants or shirt. With a sigh, Logan took in the small town and began to walk to the closest thing that appeared to be full of life; some sort of alehouse he’d have to guess. Upon entering though, Logan got the distinct impression that the entire town had been made to leave in a hurry. Tables lay on their sides, liquor stained the floor with a putrid scent, candles were left burning with only half a wick left to go. Logan took a step back and let his eyes sweep the area for danger before moving forward into the upturned alehouse. He guessed that he’d find clothing upstairs and was proven right once he ventured up the rickety, creaking staircase at the back of the room. The second floor was smaller than the first but the three doors that lined the short hallway may have given the impression it was smaller than it actually was. The first door was locked, as was the second, but the third door was unlocked and behind it Logan found a bedroom. It was nothing like his old bedroom back at the castle, but it seemed comfortable enough with a little fireplace and multiple blankets adorning the straw mattress. There was a large trunk at the end of the bed and Logan raided it thoroughly for clean clothing before ditching his old, muddied rags for something newer if not a little larger than he had originally been wearing, 

With his clothes sorted Logan descended the stairs and moved to the counter where he found a few small coins and some rags he tied around his wrists for warmth. After a few more minutes of searching he came across some rope, thinner than any he’d ever seen in his life. He tied the rope into a necklace and placed the ring on it, rubbing the skin where the ring once held on firmly. The white band would soon fade but hiding the ring around his neck seemed a much better idea than someone recognising it around his finger. He idled for a little while longer before the sound of approaching horses drew him back to reality. Of course, his father would send guards to check the town, if they couldn’t find him on the beach there was a chance of him winding up in the town. 

Logan leapt into action, rushing out of the alehouse and along the road, he knew that there was a chance that running along the road could give him more of a chance of being caught, but not running along the road could end with him tripping and being caught anyway. So, he ran as fast as he could for as long as he could, finally sagging to his knees as his adrenalin left and his stamina waned. The horses and guards were far behind him, probably checking the town still, but Logan thanked anyone who was listening that he was out of danger for now. The sound of fire crackling to life made him turn and look at the town, flames rose high into the sky and licked at the slowly forming ash black clouds. They’d set the town alight in hopes of drawing him out, but he was far beyond the town now. Logan stood wearily and moved on, making his way through a sparse forest before it opened up to space dotted with very few trees where the earth was blackened and dead, shrubs grew but a few inches high and the grass was non-existent. The forest ahead made Logan shiver, but the sound of horses nearing made him forget everything and power forward. 

He tripped over bushes, scraped his hands and feet on rocks and needle-sharp twigs. A few feet from the forest’s entrance he stopped, black mud bubbling softly like air filled tar, bubbles rising to the surface and popping with a distasteful squelching sound. There was a shout from behind him and Logan stepped forward, wading into the mud and trying not to flinch too badly as something slithered past his leg. He almost tripped but a solid rock was there for him as he pulled himself out of the mud and onto the ground again. Logan moved on, feet finding hard, solid ground as he entered the forest. He turned in time to see the phantom guards stop, horses refusing to go further as Logan slipped into the shadows of the trees. A loud creaking echoed through the plain he’d left behind as the Grim Forest welcomed him with open arms.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman battles his way through King Duhn's trial and is offered a job. He's on his way to the forest and is not entirely ready for how smart his charge is. 
> 
> Logan is not prepared for the Grim Forest, but struggles his way through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished chapter 2...looks like I'm going to have to change some things, but I'm going to attempt to get one chapter up per week until this is finished. 
> 
> Lots of blood, some gore, just warning you. This is not for the faint of heart, you have been warned. 
> 
> The next chapter will be toned down immensely...
> 
> Enjoy <3

“Roman Caldonian?”, a voice called out, and Roman looked up from the group of hunters and assassins alike. He had been perfectly content to reap his reward and leave the side of King Oversta as soon as possible. But as soon as he gathered his payment and ventured outside the castle grounds he’d been met with a suit of armor bearing a scroll that promised a rich reward to all who came to King Duhn’s castle and took up his quest. Roman had, at the time, been extremely pleased with this news. He needed another job and a job offered by King Duhn himself was rare, to say the least. So, he’d packed up his gear and set off to the castle where he’d been met with a scribe who asked for his title before allowing him to enter. Now here he stood in a hall with a hundred dozen others like him who wanted whatever the king was offering for the completion of the quest. So far, the entire ordeal had been excruciatingly boring as names was read out, one after the other by the scribe. 

“At your service, my king”, Roman responded to the name, a cocky smile adorning his face as he spied King Duhn’s reluctant eye roll. So, the king had heard of him, that was good. Perhaps he could squeeze out a little more coin from the king if he deemed him a big enough threat. 

King Duhn was roughly Roman’s height and build, greying light brown hair sat in shaggy waves under a heavy looking crown made of gold, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. The beard the king sported was thick, cut short with the grey speckled hairs ending a few inches from their starting point. His clothing and posture were both neat and powerful, everything about him screaming supremacy and danger. Roman was not so easily fooled by appearances though, having lived years on the road. The king was old, judging by the grey in his hair and beard, not old enough to have to worry about death just yet. Roman let a small smirk adorn his lips as his eyes swept over the king one more time; from red, blue and gold robes to the crown on his head, settling on the brown eyes that were ringed with the grey of age. Suppressing a shiver Roman kept his eyes on the eyes of the man before him, what once could have been a warm, caring brown was now cold and stony, as if no heart lay beyond that rich sun-kissed skin and dimly flushed cheeks. 

After a few more minutes of name calling the scribe stood up straight and turned to the king, bowing before descending from beside the throne and slipping out of sight behind a few guards. Roman’s eyes narrowed at the quick exit before the king started up his prepared speech, “you are all here for money, that much is clear to me, so I will jump straight to the point. Someone dear to me has escaped my grasp and taken off, I require one of you to bring them back to me before the next half moon. Bring them back and you can choose your riches from my personal vault, fail and you will die either by my hand or at the hand of the forest. The reason there are so many of you is I require the best of the best, in an hour I will bring you all together and I will determine who is the best. For now, you are free to wander the castle grounds. You are dismissed.”

Roman chuckled darkly as he followed the crowd out the doors, hanging back a little and slipping down a hallway that he knew had to lead to the bedrooms. The guards didn’t make any move to stop him, so he ventured further, stopping by each room and peeking in at what lay inside. Beds, baths, mirrors and decorative knick-knacks littered the large and extravagant rooms. Roman mused quietly to himself as he walked towards the end of the corridor, eyes focused on the large window that overlooked the ocean. He did miss the salty tang of seawater occasionally, but he also missed the creak of the trees from further inland. 

He didn’t know how long he spent looking outside at the sea, but when the sound of clashing steel and pained yells reached his ears he rounded and followed the sounds. After walking through some more corridors and finally reaching a door at the end of the maze of a castle Roman found a bloodbath. A few of the people he saw at the ceremony were still standing but many others had fallen, blood coating their blades as crows began to dive for the flesh they sought after. Roman pulled his own sword as an ax blade came crashing down on it, denting the metal as Roman’s eyes widened. The ax dislodged itself from his sword and came crashing back down on him as Roman dodged it, sliding his sword into the other man’s heart with ease. Roman panted, grabbed the fallen man’s ax and joined the fray, quickly killing two other opponents before rounding on the final person. 

Axe clashed with twin daggers as Roman used his strength to push them back, knocking away one dagger and narrowly dodging a cut from the other. He used the blade of the ax as a shield before spotting his opening and going for the kill, slipping the long handle under one of their legs and pulling up with enough force to unbalance them before Roman flipped the ax around and fell forward, effectively decapitating them as he leaned over them on his knees. He panted softly as the sound of clapping resonated around the bloody field. Roman didn’t look up, didn’t have to, he knew that the footsteps moving towards him belonged to King Duhn. 

“Well done, Roman Caldonian. Very well done”, the king said softly, voice like a thousand church bells inside Roman’s skull as he pulled the blade back and wiped the excess blood off on the decapitated assassin’s clothing. With a small grunt, he pushed himself up to his feet, slinging the ax over one shoulder and wiping the hair out of his eyes. Roman chucked the king a self-assured smile as he set his feet and stood his ground firmly.

“So, where do I go for this quest?”, Roman asked, finding the strength within not to flinch as the king let out a dark chuckle. King Duhn closed his eyes and stepped towards Roman slowly, putting one foot on the decapitated body and stopping as his foot sunk into cloth covered flesh. 

“The Grim Forest. I’m glad it was you actually, you’re the only one who’s gone in and survived, from what I hear”, the king murmured softly and Roman set his shoulders in an attempt to appear unfazed by the king’s closeness.

“Your ‘dear person’ won’t last a day. Probably dead by now”, Roman muttered and the king let out another dark chuckle at his words. Roman couldn’t help but swallow as his throat closed over in fear.

“You’re looking for a man, twenty-nine, brown hair and bad eyesight”, the king said, stepping back and turning around. His blue and red robes flowed behind him, gold stitching and embroidery shining in the sun’s light as he moved with purpose towards the doors Roman had come from. 

“Well then he’s definitely dead”, Roman murmured, following the king with a swaggering walk, cocky smirk back in place as the doors swung open for them. The two walked slowly along the corridor, light passing across king and company as the sun peeked through stained glass windows that tinted the light a gentle orange. Roman followed in step with the man as they neared another set of double doors; large mahogany carved with depictions of knights and heroes, soldiers atop horses, kings, and queens with crowns of burned brown wood. The doors moved without input, swinging inwards with a heavy sounding creak that moaned throughout the castle like a banshee. The red carpet that ran from the door to the throne was somewhat tattered, indents of the stones below peeking through where it had been worn down too much for anyone to care. Roman’s eyes moved from side to side, taking in the throne room for what it was now that he could see all without needing to look over heads and shoulders. 

The room was rectangular with two enclosed balconies on either side of the room that overlooked the ocean with ceiling to floor windows. Roman took in the cobblestone floor, stone columns and arched ceiling with dark stone trusses. In the beginning, it may have been beautiful but now, now the stones were cracked, pieces missing from the floor and ceiling as the faded red carpet below his feet was slashed and wrinkled in odd places. The only thing that may have been as clean and pristine as when it had been first introduced to the room were the marble statues; six feet tall at least with marble shields and swords, pale suits of armor gleaming in the afternoon sun as veins of grey ran across it like lightning. Marble warriors ready for battle polished and shined to the very last inch. Roman could appreciate a good statement piece, something to show off how much wealth you had or your values and ethical code. He could appreciate a fellow warrior, someone who valued the art of fighting and slaying your foes one by one until you remained the victor of all. 

“I know for a fact he’s not dead”, King Duhn murmured softly, feet treading lightly on the carpet as he ascended to his throne. One hand ran over the stone structure, circling the inlaid gems before he rounded on Roman and took a seat. Roman looked the king over but listened intently as something moved behind him. Metal clacked lightly as light feet moved toward Roman’s back, the sellsword straightened and swung his ax around, stamping the eye into the eroding carpet with a loud thud, hands resting on the knob at the end of the long handle. “I need him back. You know what he looks like, so I’ll give you an hour of rest before sending you on your way.”

“And why does the king need this man so urgently?”, Roman inquired, lips twitching into a deeper smirk as the king’s brow wrinkled ever so slightly. The frustration with Roman was evident, but he couldn’t help but continue with the slightly taunting nature of his words, “surely a king, such as yourself, could find many others like the man you have described.”

“He is one of a kind. Unique, for all intents and purposes I wish to use him. Find him and bring him back to me in one piece and all you wish for shall be yours”, the king said, sinking into the stone throne with an exhausted sigh before he leaned forward, a glint sparkling in the murky brown depths, “I could even find that little boy in your memories. The one with the ring.”

Roman stilled, smirk slipping off his face as his posture stiffened. Anger began to swell inside of him, pulsing heat that ripped through his veins like a knife. Roman tried not to show his anger, speaking with ice-laden words, “how did you know about that?”

“I am full of surprises, am I not? Bring back my prize and you shall have yours”, the king said, not waiting a moment longer as his right hand flittered in Roman’s direction. Two metal hands gripped Roman’s shoulders tightly and he had only a second before two guards dragged him from the king’s throne room to the castle entrance where they threw him to the ground. Mud splattered his clothes as another threw the ax in front of him, blade and handle digging into the mud with their weight. Roman pulled himself up, grimacing at the mud on his hands and clothes. He wiped off as much as he could and rubbed at the mud on his face before taking the ax from the ground and walking towards the Grim Forest. 

Roman growled softly as he tripped on another rock, he walked along the road towards the town closest to the Grim Forest, a small but worthwhile stop on his journey to find King Duhn’s mystery man. The town had been thriving in recent years, the alehouse alone raking in customers with promises of beds and booze. Every other town around King Duhn’s castle had made its bed and laid in it, burned by the guards or by the townspeople themselves, but the little town but a quarter mile from the castle had done remarkably well in comparison. From where he was, Roman could almost see the town but as he neared the stench of burned wood and smoke made his eyes water and nose twitch. The sight of burned buildings had never been much of an issue for Roman, even the smell didn’t upset him all that much, but the idea that all of this had been torched for one man made his stomach twist. He couldn’t fathom how a king like King Duhn found such great value in someone that he’d torch an entire town to find them. Roman looked skyward at the billowing grey clouds above, close to the castle he’d noticed the rain clouds but now they seemed much more ominous. He continued on his path, kicking at the ashy remains of charred wood and blackened mud. The white fissures in the wood split open, timbers crumbling and breaking apart under his boots as he journeyed onward. 

With the burned town at his back, Roman continued forward, eyes scanning the road and brief bit of forest between the town and the Deadlands. The Deadlands were spectacular, trees a burnt black yet the few that stood still thrived where they were. There were tiny shrubs all over, ready to trip unsuspecting traveler and steal shreds of clothing from them, perhaps even some blood. The uneven landscape, the darkness of the soil, the burnt look of the grass; everything seemed dead, hence the name. Dark grey clouds barrelled across the sky, a light rumble in the distance signified thunder as Roman rolled his eyes and continued over the dead terrain. Shrubs gripped to his boots, round curls of dead grass tangled around his legs, coiling like snakes and tripping him as they pulled back on the hard leather that surrounded his feet. Roman kicked back the weeds and looked up as the final patch of sunlight descended into darkness. The roiling clouds above grew darker and darker, the mild-looking nickel grey twisted to an angry charcoal. Roman forced himself to take more cautious steps as he approached the forest, even on the Deadlands there would be trouble brewing for anyone unlucky enough to stumble into them at night or during a heavy storm. 

He turned up his nose, as the black sludge ring came into view, a personal triumph came when he finally figured out how to cross the moat a few years ago. After a few seconds, he spotted what he’d been looking for; three dark grey stones pushed together in an arrowhead formation, one on his side pointing towards the forest and an identical one pointing towards him on the forest’s side. He kept his steps light as he pressed a foot down on the surface of the sludge right in front of the arrow’s point. The sludge pooled around his foot, but he sunk less than three inches into the black substance, a smile crossing his face as he took another more confident step right in front of the first and felt his foot plunge into the slimy black abyss. Roman let out a cry of strangled outrage as he toppled and fall with flailing arms into the moat with all the grace of a giant rat forced to walk on two legs. With all the force he could muster, Roman pushed himself out of the muck and stabilized himself back on the path towards the other side while wiping the black mud off his face and onto his clothes. He could feel the sticky black ooze in his gloves but continued on, knowing it would be unsafe to stand still in the moat. 

When he finally reached the other side, Roman tugged off his boots and gloves, growling as he was forced to put the wet and somewhat sludge filled boots back on. He checked the ax was still attached to the leather that covered half of his upper body before looking around for disturbances in the forest. With one hand he tucked his gloves into his belt and with the other, he grabbed at the smaller ax tucked by its handle into a separate loop in his belt. He tossed the ax up, catching it again before setting off into the forest to find signs of other life. Roman had hope that whoever this guy was, that he’d be alive when the sellsword found him, heavens only knew what King Duhn had planned for him if he returned with a dead prisoner. Especially one of such high worth to the king that he’d make assassins and sellswords to kill one another, just to find the right one for the job. Roman cut down a few branches, stomping them into the leaf covered ground as he ventured forward, he hoped he’d find them in time. 

He picked up a trail a few minutes later, hands ghosting over crushed leaves and footprints. Was this man really stupid enough to run into a forest without boots? Then again, they’d been kept a prisoner for however long, they probably didn’t have the luxury to own boots or even need them in their little cell. Roman looked around, searching for more signs before he found the thick black sludge he’d waded through splashed on the bark of a dying tree in a handprint shape. The handprint was smaller than Roman’s, but not small enough for a child which Roman was partially thankful for. At least he wouldn’t be lugging a child’s carcass back to Duhn’s castle, but the thought of an adult male didn’t make the idea any less appealing; he’d rather not lug something as big as an adult male back through the mud, even if he’d been a prisoner he’d still weigh a ton and Roman was not ready to carry something that heavy back through the forest, over the moat, through the town, and back to King Duhn’s castle gates. 

Roman wiped a hand over the bark above the handprint, turning his gaze from the tree to the ground as he studied the way the leaves had been parted by shuffling feet. He could make out a rough direction and followed, moving quickly and quietly through the forest. In hindsight, he supposed he should have made a thorough check of the shuffled leaves as he wandered past the same tree for the second time. He’d assumed the prisoner would be sleep deprived, having escaped from somewhere as well guarded as Duhn’s castle, but he didn’t anticipate the prisoner to be capable of such a high level of deception in his condition. Roman sat down on the forest floor and allowed himself a small chuckle, he’d been had. The trails of upturned leaves led him precisely back to where he’d begun with the handprint, pulling him into the forest, turning him this way and that before rounding back on him, a clever little trick to fool anyone stupid enough to follow into the Grim Forest. The prisoner had given Roman a much-needed humbling lesson, he’d been fooled into thinking himself a great tracker, yet he was taken for a spin with such a simple trick. 

The sellsword leaned back, head hitting the trunk of a large tree as he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest. He focused on sounds unlike ones he’d usually hear; sniffles of distress, soft crying, the sound of bare feet on leaves, or whimpers of pain as animals tore at still warm flesh. But as the minutes ticked by Roman came up empty, everything seemed to be in its place which made the sellsword grunt a little, a complication arising from all of this. Either the prisoner was dead, or they were much cleverer than Roman gave them credit for, either way, Roman had very little to guide him into finding the man and bringing him back to the King. Perhaps he could spend a year in the forest away from the stupidity of humanity, with their need to kill anything and everything. A year in the forest where King Duhn couldn’t get to him before he returned and went after more jobs, more would inevitably crop up with the death of nearly all of the sellsword and assassin population. He could probably ask for more since he was older, experienced and wise in the ways of combat, he’d be the go-to man for all of the royal’s killing needs. Sure, he’d be booze deprived, but he could live with that, far better than dead the moment Duhn saw he was alive and without the prisoner. Better to live a sober hermit for a year, then be drunk as the ax came down on his neck. 

 

Logan stilled as the ax-wielding man’s breath evened out, he kept his footsteps light as he moved from under the large tree into the rest of the forest. He had been glad when he found it hollow and large enough to accommodate his entire quaking form. When he’d first set up the little diversion, he thought he would never need it, but now he was swimming in relief and happiness as it had worked on the only person stupid enough to follow his father’s orders and enter the Grim Forest. Now the man slept a few feet from his tree, eyes closed and breathing steady as the sky overhead began to darken with an incoming storm. 

Logan moved silently out of the tree, feet quiet as he assessed each and every step to be made. The trees would give him shelter and cloak him from the downpour to come, the rain was, however, the least of his concerns at that point in time. Water would wash away all traces of his being there, but the man would wake as soon as the first drop splattered the ground, he’d look for shelter and had Logan stayed in his tidy little hollow, he’d have been found and caught. After all, he’d gone through to get out, he’d never give up the little freedom he now had even if that meant death by pneumonia or something similar. He’d rather die from the cold and the rain, than in a cell where his every movement was watched. 

He was careful not to touch any branches or trees, smoothing leaves over behind him in an attempt to keep his tracks hidden from the man sent after him. Logan was making steady progress into the forest; the loud caws of birds dim in comparison to before as the forest shrouded in darkness and death pulled him into a life draining embrace. Every step seemed heavier, every sound louder, every smell and creak amplified tenfold. Logan’s eyes wandered, dark trees seemingly reaching for him as he moved through tall grass towards even darker parts of the forest. 

In a second he was on the ground, body convulsing as the air grew musky and rotten. He tried to breathe but his lungs seized up, unable to draw in air as Logan pushed himself up from the ground and saw why. A deer carcass was slowly rotting in front of his eyes, worms, and maggots squirming in the exposed stomach, eye sockets full of black beetles no bigger than Logan’s pinkie nail. He swallowed back the urge to vomit and closed his eyes, wiping the dirt from his face and trying to forget the sight, but the image seemed ingrained in his mind, burned into his eyelids. Logan opened his eyes and started back, the deer was gone. He pulled in gulps of air, eyes scouring the surrounding forest as he tried to spot the deer he had just seen, but all he could see for miles was the dark of the forest. 

The trees creaked above, and Logan pushed himself up, gritting his teeth as he began to count down from ten in an attempt to loosen the familiar iron grip of fear. He reached up to his neck and thumbed the cold ring, breathing deep and opening his eyes to the familiar trees around him. He stood, one hand on the bark of the tree and pulled back instantly as he touched something warm, squishy, soft and wet. His eyes widened, and he fell back at the sight of a body; the top half human, the bottom half deer. Pinned to the tree with several metal nails, the creature’s ribcage had been ripped from it, lungs gone while its heart remained, pulsing as if the creature was alive. Butterflies ate at the remaining flesh that exposed the stomach and heart, outer wings an ashy black while the inner wing remained a luminous blue. What struck Logan the most was the creature’s face; eyes open and blinking, mouth working though no words fell from the blood-red lips, the being was alive even as it was being eaten. 

Logan turned to the side and closed his eyes, forcing down the urge to retch a second time as he swallowed air like an alcoholic swallowed booze. His racing heart seemed to beat out of his chest and the thought finally made him sick. He propped himself up on his hands and knees and spilled the contents of his stomach over the dark dirt. Tears slipped from his eyes as he sat back on his knees, he could care less about the man now, all he could care about was the creature nailed to a tree behind him. Logan closed his eyes, wiped his lips and nose off, and turned around to face the half-man-half-beast once more. All he found was a sullen dark tree, bark as bare as it had been not moments before Logan had seen the creature. Logan’s head whipped around, searching for the creature but the forest was decidedly creature-less. 

His jaw clicked shut as he stood, finally understanding as he forced himself to move on. The forest seemed to be showing him visions, images of things he’d give up hope seeing, but he was stronger than this, he could move past a few dead creatures if it meant surviving. So, he moved along and made his way through another patch of forest just like the one before, hands at his sides, eyes focused on the road ahead. He couldn’t afford to lose himself in rotten fantasies like those. If he allowed the forest to win he might as well have stopped in front of the ax-wielding man and yelled in his face for him to take Logan back, and that was not going to happen. 

He almost tripped over a small hole in the ground, he was so lost in thought. Logan grumbled softly as he took another step, stopping short when a sharp pain exploded from his ankle. He looked around, listened for anyone or anything coming his way, and pulled himself into a raised next of tree roots. The large tree kept him hidden for the most part, but his immediate attention went to his ankle rather than the world around him. His fingers moved over the dirt and mud-covered flesh, quickly figuring out that there was no break in the joint, yet the joint protested every time he made a move. A sprained ankle would take very little time to heal in comparison to a break, but as he bit his lip he realized he wouldn’t even be in this position had he been watching where he was going. He let a little chuckle pass from his mouth, devoid of humor as it was. 

Logan felt the tell-tale chill of an oncoming storm creep up on him and he shivered at the feeling. He knew he was far enough away from the man to be safe, and he was under shelter so very little water should theoretically be able to get to him, but while the hallucinations had faded, and he was seemingly clear of the ax wielder he knew better than to stop being anxious. Anxiousness, nervousness, gut instincts, these things saved lives and had possibly saved his own life as he was anxious enough to make that stupid little false trail. It had worked, and he was grateful for that, but his new trail would be discovered soon and the last thing he needed about now was for that man to find him and drag him back to his father. 

The rain clouds above grew darker, drawing together and rumbling above, twisting obscenely like thousands of grey snakes. Thunder boomed, rippling through the clouds as the first drop of the storm planted itself in the dark ground, the greedy dry soil gobbling it up as it awaited more of the sweet nectar that would soon drop form the sky. No lighting clashed from the clouds, but bolts flashed through their dark abyss as thunder followed like a thousand horses following a white torch as if zoomed through the skies. The rumbling grew louder as the rain grew heavier, great drops of cold water slowly speeding up and pelting from the clouds as the downpour grew steadily worse by the second. Lighting struck out somewhere beyond the forest, lighting up the darkened world with a splash of pure white that vanished a second later while thunder crackled like drums above the dark trees. 

Logan shivered a little more, regretting his decision to leave the first tree in favour of getting away from the man as ice cold water pelted down through the holes in the roots. The first tree’s roots had been more joined together, less holes between them and the branching veins of dark wood covered in dirt had been much thicker. Logan pressed his back against a large piece of exposed bark, closing his eyes in an attempt to block out the cold and wet of his present location. He thought of the warmth of fires, the sun as it shone on his body, the cocooning of a thick cloak. Soon he found himself drifting to sleep, dark encasing him as the cold seeped into every pore in his skin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A life for a life. A debt that Roman had to pay back, especially if he wanted to get his captive back to King Duhn.
> 
> Logan had only tried to help, then he'd only tried to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw life and procrastination.
> 
> This chapter was made in the following way: 1/4 in two hours on Friday, 2/4 last night, and the other 1/4 this afternoon while I was pushing to get the story up. It's not the best work I've ever produced but it's lesson on what not to do.
> 
> Okay, so the only warnings I have are about spiders and mentions of killing. There is a big spider in this chapter and if you don't like them or don't like to picture them just skip the big middle section, okay? Okay. 
> 
> Good, sweet, great, enjoy <3 (also I guess I'm doing a chapter a week coming to you every Wednesday/Thursday)

Roman woke to the wet of rain, large splatters of cold water thrown in his face as the sky let forth a torrent of cold drops. The sellsword scrunched up his face and sighed as he looked around, the forest seemingly undisturbed as he stood but as the wind blew across the forest floor Roman saw a footprint covered in leaves. He followed the footprint to another and chuckled softly as he swept away the leaves that covered two more, leading into the forest even more. Roman hurriedly followed the footprints, knowing in a drenching downpour like this one they would be washed away in a matter of moments. 

Along his way, he spotted a where the prisoner had fallen, dirt upturned as if he tried to get away from something. Roman looked around the area, slowly casing it out as a picture formed in his head. The fall, something frightening on the forest floor, standing, hand on the tree, something on the tree, fall backwards. Fall backwards and then what? Roman followed the small divots in the soil to a patch of grass and scowled. The acrid stench of stomach acid made Roman roll his eyes, had this man been so scared he emptied his stomach? Pathetic. 

Roman turned his head around to where the original fall had been and raised an eyebrow. Three large, dark, egg-shaped spore containers sat open and almost camouflaged in the tiny river embankment. Perhaps not so pathetic then, to have gotten up after all that those could put him through. Roman remembered his first encounter with those nightmare spores, he’d lay on the ground crying for hours, given he was only fourteen at the time it wasn’t as pathetic as it could have been. He’d named them Nightmare Spores, knowing what they could do to a person and an animal, he’d seen both. Most didn’t bother getting back up after the first hit, seeing things that terrified them to their core. It made it easier for them to give up and give into the forest, and then the forest would eat them. 

The sellsword shivered lightly and continued on, following the sloppy path all the way to a hole and a ditch, from there the path became non-existent. Water was gushing down, making it hard to see as he tried to traverse through the trees to another part of the forest. He moved on, making his way to a large tree with exposed roots and low branches; it’d do for the night and he could find the decayed trail in the morning once the weather cleared up. He tucked himself into the root system and shielded himself in a mud-covered cloak. When morning came he’d leave again and find this stupid prisoner, then he’d return to the king and get his money. 

 

Logan awoke to sun on his face and warmth in his bones. The clouds had long gone, pale grey staining the sky above even as the light of the sun dripped through the holes in the streaky grey. Logan shivered a little, rubbing chilled fingers over the equally cold ring before moving to position himself upright. He scanned the outside of the tree through the holes in the roots, checking for animals and creatures before moving another inch. When he found nothing around the tree or within sight he carefully maneuvered out of the roots and into the sunlight. The small holes in the clouds above poured hot rays onto patches of dirt and Logan wandered to one, in particular, stretching his limbs out in the brightened patch before resting his back against the warm bark of the tree behind him. 

The earth below was still damp, but the sunlight warmed the wet soil to a decent heat that had Logan digging his toes into the dirt until the chill of the water-logged earth cooled the bottoms of his feet. The heavenly feeling of a heady warmth mixed with a chilly cold slowly sunk into the bones of his feet, in some ways he wanted to bury himself alive just to feel that beautiful warmth a little more. But as he continued to stand and listen, content with where he was he was reminded of the fact that he was on the run, the breaking of a twig in the distance a prominent reminder that he did indeed have to continue his journey. 

He hastily dug his feet back out and covered the hole up as best he could before continuing on his way, shivering as he exited the patch of sun into the shadow of clouds where the cold pinched at his skin and clawed at the once warm and wet clothing he was wearing. The chill extended as far as his neck were the iron ring began to almost burn with the cold, Logan pulled it out and rubbed his fingers over the band. The ring heated a fraction and he dropped it back inside, feeling the leather and metal rest against his warmed skin as he pulled the clothing around his thin body a little tighter and moved his feet in the wet soil. He dug one heel into the damp and cold, plunging his toes into the dirt a few inches from where he stood before lifting the heel of his other foot and surging it forward, pushing himself to walk even as the clouds thickened above him and the spotlights of sun began to vanish. 

Soon he was walking through the dead trees, feet so numb he could barely tell he was moving at all with the only indication he was actually walking being the passing of the trees. The small dips in the forest floor did little more than give him a reason to stumble and continue, bothersome as they were he was more focused on moving forward and out of the forest. With the knowledge that someone was following him always in the back of his mind, Logan forced himself to think of happier things and happier times as a coping mechanism. 

He became lost in his memories, stumbling in a straight line through the trees of the forest until he came to a creek and woke from his trance to find himself buried waist deep in murky brown water and floating animal carcasses. Logan bit back the scream of terror that was bubbling up inside of him, closing his eyes as something slithered past his feet and a furry skull bobbed by his chest. Biting his lip, Logan moved through the creek, finding it more of a river as he neared the other side, hands gripping onto the bank as he pulled himself from horrid waters and looked around him. His eyes landed on a semi-stable looking stone bridge, curved over the river with some parts missing, emerald moss patchy over certain places with a twisty tree winding under a section from Logan’s side of the river. Logan shook his head and eyed a few worms covered in brown water that had slipped from his breeches when he left the river, they slowly dug their way back into the earth, but the residue on his mind of having had such creatures so close to him still disturbed Logan as he stood and began to shake out his clothing, more worms falling to the ground even as he ran a hand through his hair and found both his head and a worm covered in dirt. 

“Hey!”, the shout was sudden, like someone banging two pots together over your sleeping body, and Logan snapped his head to the other side of the river where he’d come from to see the ax-wielding man from earlier. He’d found Logan, but he still needed to cross and unlike Logan, he’d seen the bridge. Logan scrambled up the bank and into the forest, hiding behind a tree as he heard the sellsword curse aloud and stumble onto the bridge. Logan peeked around the tree and froze in horror as the bridge on the Grim Forest’s side trembled, then quaked and finally an eye opened and a hand creeped out towards the man on the bridge. 

“Watch out!”, Logan yelled, the gut reaction starling both of them even more than the hand around the sellsword’s waist, pulling him back as a large body unfurled from the bridge, six eyes blinking open with three either side of a long nose and above a gaping mouth of sharp unruly teeth, all set into stone grey skin that looked tough enough to break any weapon that came at it. Logan had heard stories of trolls, nasty creatures that lived under bridges and ate all who trespassed on their territory; the unholy offspring of giants and faeries with nothing on their minds but the desire to consume and eat. Creatures that would do little else but sleep and eat until they died, and Logan couldn’t remember anything about trolls dying, he supposed they may never die with how little tales mentioned them actually dying.

There was a crunch and Logan whipped his head around to look at the great feet of the troll, whole body out for the two to see. Vines and moss-coated its back in places, twisty branches strapped down by emerald green ivy that seemed attached to the beast itself. The form the beast had was near two men tall, body slumped with short legs and long arms that made it look rather comical, like a human with giant hands and tiny feet that had to walk like a dog on all fours. The man chasing Logan was gripped in a tightened fist, sharp translucent nails poking into the grey skin as it squeezed tighter. With a single crack, the man’s ax bounced off the hard skin of the dull creature and onto the bridge, sliding down onto the other side with a loud clattering sound that grated at Logan’s nerves. 

He hid behind the tree, waiting and hoping; though the man was his supposed enemy he didn’t wish the ax-wielding man harm as he should, hoping for his safety rather than his demise. So, when the troll lifted its fist to smash the man’s head into the bridge, Logan leaped into action and ran up to the troll with the only plan he could think of; distract until a getaway can be made. 

Logan stopped as six beady black and blue eyes narrowed on him, body stumbling towards his tiny human form with curiosity lacing its gaze. The confusion and curiosity would serve in Logan’s favor, but having the man still trapped would prove his plan difficult to work, but he could still do it. Logan scooped up three pebbles and tossed them in the air, circling them around in a juggling act as the troll watched enamored by the movement and feat of the tiny human before it. With the distraction underway, Logan moved his gaze quickly to the sellsword, moving his head to the side of the bridge where the man could escape to once the troll released its grip on him. The man gave him a questioning look before seemingly understanding the gesture and nodding at Logan. 

The act was shaky at best, the stones heavy and differing in shape and size but Logan was entirely focused on completing his task, so the unique properties of each stone were little more than a nuisance at the back of his mind. While Logan performed the troll slumped, tiny legs spread out in front of it as it watched like a giant toddler as rock after rock was passed into a near perfect circle. The great beast seemed delighted, it probably hadn’t seen something so entertaining before and probably would never see something like this again. It released the sellsword, who sprawled out against the rock barrier with wide eyes as he watched the troll crack into a smile and begin to clap at Logan’s display. The comedy of the situation was not lost on Logan, yet he preferred to keep up the marvelous juggling act instead of stuttering to laugh. 

Logan had barely enough time to register what was happening before the man who had been hunting him leaped at him and tackled him to the ground, rocks flying from Logan’s hands before the sellsword twirled around and launched one into the top right eye of the troll. The clapping and smile turned sour, a screech of anguish laced the air and the man grabbed Logan and his ax before bolting into the nest of trees Logan had come from to rescue the man moments before. Logan blinked as the troll’s eyes caught his own and he could have sworn a strange sadness tinted all six dark pools. 

 

When the man finally stopped running, a stumbling Logan following with his wrist grasped tightly by his captor, they were deep in the forest. Green leaves adorned brown trees, some twirling down with hints of orange and red, dancing on the wind currents like faeries from stories. Both all but collapsed into the dead leaf covered floor, air punched from their lungs as they tried to pull in as much as possible. The sellsword sent after him collapsed against a rock, back hard against stone as he closed his eyes and tilted his head towards the sky. Logan came back to his senses the second the man dropped his guard, eyes searching for any way out from this situation, no doubt the man would bring him back to his father the second he recovered. 

“Don’t even”, the man began, voice breathy as he tried to recover from the winding experience of running for his life, “think for one second that you can get away from me again.” Logan looked at the sellsword, breathing quietly as he narrowed his eyes and ran thin fingers over the covered ring, courage, and bravery collecting along with stupidity and outrage. This man didn’t know what he was capable of, he’d escaped his father he could definitely escape a winded sellsword, and the man owed him his life, if not for any other reason the man could let him go based on that alone. 

So, Logan stood and took off into the forest, hearing the groan of agony behind him as he raced into the trees, feet thumping over dead leaves that crackled with each step he took. He could feel his stomach turning, lack of food mixing with overexertion to create a nauseous feeling that swelled and slipped away like the tides of the ocean. After a few minutes, he slowed, legs shaking as he knees knocked together like a newborn deer’s. He found the closest tree but a step to his right and leaned against the harsh wood, small protrusions digging into the thin material of his shirt as his vision blurred a little and he stumbled forward onto his knees. Slowly Logan re-examined where he was; green leaves decorating rich brown trees, amber leaves under his hands and knees, the scent of fresh forest and wet earth all around him. He let himself breathe, eyes closed as his mind twirled through the fog of bliss into a deeper sense of relief. The Grim Forest was behind him, the sellsword was hopefully long gone and he was finally free.

Or so he’d thought, that was though before his body was encased in something hard and cold. Whatever was around him lifted his body off the ground, the stone-like texture surrounding him pressing closer like a giant hand or snake curling around him and crushing his bones. His breathing grew shakier, darkness so tight it smothered everything but the feeling of terror. The last thing he could think of doing was a natural reaction, a cry so loud and pathetic that it would have alerted all in a two-mile radius that he was about to die. Though he didn’t die, instead light pierced through the dark and something grabbed him from the clutches of death, breaking away at the cold and smothering him in warmth. A hand plaster itself against his back while another reached out of his view as he closed his eyes and shook in the embrace of his savior. 

“Yeah that’s right, back off”, a gruff voice growled, directed to something over his shoulder. Logan hesitantly turned his head to look at the blinding light filled forest, something large was waving long limbs at him, a body half erupted from the ground that seemed to be made completely of stone. The light finally began to regulate, Logan’s eyes finally able to see all around him and he paled at what he saw. A gigantic spider, grey as storm clouds with seven large legs screamed like a banshee on its back, one leg cut clean off with a tiny section still dangling pathetically from its enormous body. The blood running from the wound was a thick blue substance, congealing in a pool where the severed limb lay, and the stump flailed around wildly. Logan turned his gaze back to the person who’d helped him and was only mildly surprised to see the sellsword holding up his ax in a threatening gesture. When the man saw the look of recognition in Logan’s eyes he cocked an eyebrow and let his lips quirk up into a tiny smirk, “we’re even now.”

Logan narrowed his eyes and was about to retort when the sellsword’s eyes turned back to the spider and he pulled Logan in closer. With his view of the monster obscured, Logan proceeded to breathe as deeply as he could, drawing in as much air as possible, he coughed into the man’s shirt as dust coated his lungs and esophagus. The sellsword gave him a quick glance before turning his eyes back to the monster, slowly backing the two away from the spider while it was preoccupied with the loss of its limb. Logan tried to cough quietly, but the attempt only escalated the noise he was making and a second later his support was gone, the man dangling mere feet away with a knife sharp spider claw impaling his left shoulder, the ax dropped in both agony and surprise. 

“My prey”, a hissy, wispy voice said and Logan almost fainted in shock. The spider could speak, and not only could it speak it spoke a near perfect representation of their language, thank the makers above. The grey beast was towering over the sellsword, abdomen obscuring the light from Logan’s eyes and body as three legs caged Logan in while the final two were occupied; one missing and dripping the blue blood while the second was rammed into the sellsword’s shoulder. The spider didn’t advance any more than where it was, eight black eyes glinting in the sunlight as its mouth fangs twitched. “You stole my prey”, the hissy voice said, sounding both sad and angry at the same time, with a tiny bit of frustration and apathy mixed in. 

“He’s not your prey”, the sellsword grunted out, a hiss of pain falling from his lips as the spider dug its claw in deeper, blood pooling around its stone-grey carapace. The spider twisted its claw, lifting the sellsword up the tree before pulling him toward all eight of its eyes with a malicious hiss. Logan had barely enough time to crawl away from the spider’s abdomen before it launched back with a small knife impaling its head. The spider hissed and wailed, crying out in pain as blue blood rushed from the wound and it bumped into tree after tree in an attempt to get away from the pain. Logan watched in horror and fascination as the spider finally dropped to the ground, a gurgling sound escaping from its fanged mouth as a puddle of blue swallowed up the decaying leaves around it. When the carcass of the spider stopped twitching and finally lay still Logan turned his attention to the sellsword that stood panting against the tree, he rotated his shoulder and tested his muscles a few times before walking to the spider and taking his blade from its head. “Like I said, not your prey”, the man slowly turned to Logan, who had backed up against a rock with wide eyes, his entire body felt as if it were made of stone, muscles heavy with a sensation that mimicked sleep. With his dagger in hand, the sellsword trumped over and wiped the blood off on his shirt, tucking the dagger away before grabbing Logan’s arms and pulling him up. He seemed to notice something, dabbing his fingers into a trickle of liquid at the back of Logan’s neck before sighing, “I thought only idiots got bitten.” Logan was going to ask what he meant but realized he couldn’t move his mouth or any other part of him. The sellsword wrapped an arm under the backs of his knees and lifted him up, his other arm supporting Logan’s back. “You’re so much more trouble than you’re worth.”

Logan couldn’t form a retort to that, couldn’t make a sound so he allowed the brute to carry him through the trees and closed his eyes in the hope he’d take pity on Logan and not carry him back to his father. This seemed to work in Logan’s eyes as the man continued to walk in a more inland direction, almost opposite from where Logan supposed he’d come from. While they walked the man kept silent, and though Logan liked the silence between the two of them he felt the need to puncture it with words and conversation, he was however in no position to do so and was as such left dismayed by the lack of stimulating conversation. As someone who’d not seen or talked to another human other than his father in years, Logan found the silence unbearable and tried to move his mouth, finding the task ultimately taxing on his mind and body with no results worth mentioning. The man continued to stomp through the leaves, trees swaying above as a gentle breeze shook greener leaves from their branches. 

After a few hours, the man stopped walking and turned his attention to the world around them as he slowly laid Logan on the ground where he began to feel the effects of sleep claw at his mind. The blurry image of the sellsword moved to and fro around him, kindling a sweet flame from broken branches and dead leaves. Smoke burned Logan’s nostrils and he found himself unconsciously wrinkling his face, unaware that the effects of the spider’s venom were beginning to wear off. Slowly the sellsword came into focus, face a few inches from Logan’s as he examined the blinking prisoner with a cautious glare. Logan worked his suddenly awake tongue in his mouth, running the tip over the front of his teeth and the backs of his cheeks, his breathing grew into a rapid intake of breath before he exhaled a sigh of relief and twitched his fingers, happy to find feeling and movement slowly returning. His gaze turned to the sellsword, eyes dancing over the ax’s metal as firelight danced in the reflective surface. 

“Thank you”, were the first words spoken between them in well over six hours, Logan noticed now that the sky above was tinged a dark blue with a few tiny dots of white blinking in the murky darkness. The sellsword looked up at him, brown eyes sizzling with curiosity and wonder. The kind of look that Logan could just barely remember receiving from people when he was announced as a prince with his tiny form, skin and bones, hollow cheeks, and sullen expressions.   
The sellsword nodded and turned his attention to the fire, leaves crunching under his hands as he moved more from around the flaming pile, “you’re welcome.” Logan smiled gently, something he’d not had the time to do since early yesterday morning, but now he had both time and relief as thoughts of father and capture slipped his mind, sleep pulling him into the dark abyss of comfort and relaxation. 

 

Roman couldn’t help but smile a little, King Duhn’s prisoner finally asleep, poor kid looked like he hadn’t slept well in days, perhaps even weeks or months. He seemed almost skin and bone with how thin he was, unhealthily so, and Roman would make sure he was well fed before even considering returning him to King Duhn. That said it was night now and that arachnid monster that had attacked his charge was definitely not the only of its kind, they’d come out of the woodwork in the morning and Roman had to be prepared to face an attack of that scale. He’d get the man up as soon as dawn struck, and they’d head off as fast as possible. Perhaps they could find a village on the other side of the Bewitched. The forest between the Grim and the Faerie Forest’s made of tall trees, a thick green canopy, and half-sentient monsters too wild for the Seelie and Unseelie courts. He’d never liked venturing into this particular forest, something about the Bewitched made his skin crawl even more than the Grim, maybe it was the similarity between the landscape or the fact that every few steps you could encounter monsters like the Arania, the giant spider from before had been one of many and Roman had encountered much larger than a hatchling like that one. Many grew to the size of houses, carapace changing color with age from a soft pink to grey to finally a fantastical array of camouflage colors. 

A crack of twigs and leaves made Roman look up from the fire, eyes flicking round the campsite a few times before he pulled out his dagger, still covered in dried blue blood. The Arania could smell the blood of their own and would track him down eventually, he’d rather leave the Bewitched before that happened, especially with the precious cargo he had on him now. There was no way he was letting that kid die on his watch, at least until he got what he was promised. He blinked slowly, trailing a finger over the sharp blade before turning his gaze to the kid. With a low sigh, he stood and stowed the dagger away, picking the limp body up and setting up closer to the fire with the man’s head resting on his right thigh, better to have him close than dead. 

Roman’s eyes began to droop, sleep and exhaustion catching up with him as the events of the day slowly replayed in his head; waking up under a tree, finding tracks to the river that separated the Grim Forest and the Bewitched, seeing his prisoner and heading to the bridge, getting caught by that troll and rescued by his prisoner. Everything up to the events with the Arania slowed down until he could remember ever line, every wrinkle, on his captive’s face when he saved Roman. That was something Roman wasn’t used to, being saved. He was used to doing the saving or being the cause of someone needing saving, but being saved was almost entirely new to him, the last time he’d needed saving and had been saved he was fifteen and half dead from starvation. An elderly woman had offered him some food while he was wandering along the road between two kingdoms and the next day, after being fed and sent on his way, he’d come back to kill the woman for being a suspected witch. She’d pleaded and begged but, ultimately, he’d had to do his job. The gold was well worth it though.

Now looking down at the second person to ever save his life he felt a mix of emotions. They were even as even could be, his life debt had been paid in full but something about returning to King Duhn twisted his stomach with all sorts of dirty feelings. Somehow, he felt as if he’d be betraying a friend if he returned with the prisoner in tow, yet he’d only known the man a little over eight hours. Roman clenched his teeth and looked ahead over the fire and into the darkness of the trees, he needed to get the job done no matter how bad it’d hurt in the long run. The king promised he could help Roman find or see his friend, the only one who ever loved him. A life for a life, Roman thought with a grim smirk as he ran a hand over his captive’s shoulder, his best friend for some filthy runaway. He’d swindled king’s before, but surely, he could do one of such a magnitude as this, swapping this bundle of bones and flesh for the one person he’d lost and would give anything to see again one more time. 

The fire crackled, sparks rushing up in a small burst that sent embers into the night sky. Roman pulled out his dagger again and eyed his captive’s chest, rising and falling so peacefully with each breath he took. He could kill him and lug his body back to the king, sure the dead weight would be an issue at some point, dead human would attract many flesh-eating beasts especially in the Bewitched, but then he wouldn’t have to fear for the man’s safety every time they came up against a wall like the Arania. He could just dump the body and head into battle without worrying if the captive would be killed or not. Just one movement and the dagger would pierce his heart, killing him almost instantly. 

The captive shuddered in his sleep, eyelids opening a touch before fully opening to look at Roman. Roman froze, unable to move at the doe-like stare he was receiving, apparently, the man was unaware that Roman was holding a knife to his heart as he gave Roman a soft smile and promptly fell asleep again. The sellsword looked at the sleeping man’s face, raking his eyes over every inch before he felt the knife in his hands again and drew it back slowly. He couldn’t kill the man, not yet at least.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a night in the forest to a night surrounded by acidic water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long to get up. I had planned to get a chapter up a few days ago, but I ended up redoing the chapter from scratch since what I had wasn't something I was happy with so I was left with a blank canvas and 1,000 words gone. Anyway, I finally got this chapter done...look one warning for this chapter is for the final few paragraphs. If you've read the new additions to the tag list you'll know what to look forward to :)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it and take care of yourselves <3 (also if you want a translation for my made-up language, just ask or you can post in the comments what you think they say)

Roman’s eyes fluttered open and closed almost immediately after, sun streaming into them from the trees above. The holes in the canopy and paper-thin leaves did little to protect him from the harsh sunlight. Though as sleep was swept away by the feeling of life flowing once more, Roman noticed his leg had gone unnaturally numb, despite the rest of his body feeling awake. Dew drops cascaded down his face and he rubbed them from lashes and cheeks as he sat up to look at what was obstructing the flow of blood along his leg, he winced as he moved his left shoulder, pain still there with a soft throbbing presence. The man he’d saved from the Arania lay still as a statue, drops of transparent liquid dotting his features and collecting in the corners of his face. Like diamonds, they lay glistening, as scattered as stars with a sparkle uniquely their own. Something in Roman was disturbed at how still the man was, his breathing quiet and chest inflations almost non-existent. 

He roused the man without meaning to, moving to resituate his leg and ending up with a slowly waking man in his arms. Roman almost dropped him, but instead chose to lay the man on the ground with a small grunt. The man blinked at him, dew drops clinging to his eyelashes and sliding down to his cheeks every time he blinked, though he finally wiped them away with the palm of his hand and looked Roman head on after sitting up. They watched each other, cautious and wary of any move the other may make. Eventually, though the sound of birds chirping snapped them from their trances, the sound unfamiliar to them after so many days of hearing nothing but silence and their own heartbeats. 

Roman stood, hand reaching for the handle of his ax as he eyed the sky above warily, searching for anything amiss in the skies. His eyes lowered to the forest around them, peering past trees with brown and white bark, through small patches of bushes as he tried to find anything that could harm them before he relaxed his shoulders and exhaled a low breath. He reached for his dagger, blue glistening on the silver blade as he turned it over in the light knowing they needed to find a water source to wash the blood off in along with something for them to eat and drink. Without a word, he stamped on the smoldered twigs, turned on his heel and began walking away from his captive. He stopped when he heard no footsteps and waited for the tell-tale crunch of leaves to sound through the waking forest. After a few seconds, his captive appeared at his shoulder, brown eyes looking up at him inquisitively before he let out a grunt and set off, ears and eyes open and senses keenly aware of his surroundings. 

After an hour of walking nonstop Roman found what he’d been looking for, a small flowing stream greeted both men with a simple melody. The crystal-clear river bubbled and hushed the rest of the forest, surrounded by tall white and brown trees, covered by a thin canopy of green leaves that allowed the sun to peek through in places, beams hitting the water and lighting up small parts of the river. Brown soil surrounded the small water supply, darker than the rest of the forest and sprouting all manner of greenery and flowers from its banks, from wildflowers to herbs to berries the river supplied all the water the plants could ever need. Roman stooped to the water, hand on his dagger as he leaned over the stream and sniffed it lightly, he was content with no foul smells or telling odors and dipped the blade into the water to wash it, blue tinting the once clear stream before it washed down, following the flow of the river as Roman cleaned the water off his blade and situated it in its place on his person. 

All this time his captive never spoke, watching with a heated gaze that made Roman’s blood boil, eyes digging into the back of his head with curiosity and wonder swirling like a hurricane behind shields of bronze. Roman dipped his hand into the clear water, bringing it up and taking a sip to test the liquid and, finding it satisfactory, he stood up fully and stepped back pulling out his container of liquor and taking a swig before thinking better of it and capping the bottle tight. He turned to his captive and noticed how the man seemed nervous, though no danger was around, and he knew Roman would have no need to hurt him. 

“Something wrong?”, Roman asked, voice rough as gravel as he eyed the man and searched for an answer to his question. The man didn’t make a move, nor did he say anything but as Roman moved forward he moved back, eyes set firmly on the ground though he glanced up at Roman when he moved. Roman huffed softly and turned to the river, looking down at his liquor before torturing himself with the idea of sharing or dumping it all together in favor of having water inside for the two of them. 

“Your shoulder”, a voice said softly and Roman turned back to his captive with a raised eyebrow and a cold look. He tilted his head and surveyed the man who swallowed and looked him in the eye before clarifying, “you should use that on your shoulder.”

Roman let out a small huff, eyes closing over before he looked back at his captive and let a small smirk fall onto his face with a twinge of darkness, “you think I haven’t heard of that before.” For all he was worth, his captive remained remarkably still and emotionless, even with how cold Roman’s words had been. Roman knew he could have perhaps phrased it better, but he was tired, and he had no patience for someone he shouldn’t care about in the slightest. 

“Allow me”, his captive murmured softly, stepping forward and taking the container and undoing it without a word, pulling Roman’s shirt to the side and allowing a dribble to fall from the lip. Roman let out a grunt of both surprise and pain as heat seared the bloodied wound where a thin layer of blood had crusted over, yet not enough to stop the trickle of liquor that entered into his bloodstream. He tried to grab the container only to have it pulled from his grasp at the last second as a small wave of liquor crashed onto the patch of red and peach. Roman’s world spun, the pain almost unbearable as he sunk to the ground with shaking legs and pain branching out from the wound. His captive tipped the rest of the contents of the container out onto the wound and capped it, setting it on the ground before he hauled Roman’s uninjured arm over his shoulders and dragged him to the river where he practically threw Roman into the freezing water and waited for a response. The response he wanted was almost instantaneous as Roman rocketed out of the river with a choked screech and scrambled onto the bank, wet and in pain as the residue of water and alcohol sunk into his wound. He lay on his back, waiting for the pain to end when he felt pressure on the wound and opened his eyes to see his captive applying a wet cloth to the now seeping hole. Roman blinked at him incredulously from his position on the ground, there were a few questions running through his mind, burning deep into his psyche but he kept quiet as the careful ministrations on his wound continued until the blood no longer seeped from it. At that point his captive sat back and looked at him, waiting for him to say something. 

Roman finally found his voice, eyes not straying from his captive’s, “who are you?” His captive looked down at his hands, fiddling with the reddened cloth still wet with blood and water. He didn’t speak, but Roman knew how to take that as he sat up and ran a hand through his hair. With a sigh he stood and offered a hand to his prisoner who blinked at it stupidly, Roman waited for a few more minutes before feeling a cold weight in his hand and finding a smaller hand than his own gripping down on his hand. Roman pulled his captive up, taking a few seconds to look over the skinner of the two and realizing they hadn’t eaten the previous day. The hole in his stomach let out a desperate wave of pain and Roman allowed himself to scrunch up his face at the pain. 

Food was easier to come by than he’d previously thought, berry bushes dotted the area and, with his knowledge of the forests, Roman was able to find a sizeable number of berries for the two to partake in. His captive watched him closely, eyes never straying too far from his back and feet light on the wet soil. When enough food had been collected, Roman took a seat on the bank and divided up the spoils between him and his captive, watching as his captive remained hesitant and standing close behind him. With a raised eyebrow Roman patted the dirt beside him, gesturing to the food and waiting patiently for his prisoner to sit beside him and eat. 

His prisoner took two steps closer to the river and inched away from Roman’s side before taking his seat and dipping a hand into the cool water. He seemed unsure of how to proceed and Roman pushed the leaf of berries towards him, taking a few and popping them in his mouth as he began to eat. After a second or two Roman turned to his prisoner to see his mouth covered in berry juice and all, but a few berries, completely gone, a wild look of hunger and desire had appeared in the stead of wariness and curiosity. Roman decided it best to get more later once his captive had eaten all of the remaining berries, better to not overfeed the obviously starved man beside him, lest he fall prey to illness from overindulgence. 

Once the berries had been eaten and his prisoner had drunk from the river, downing handfuls of clear water with a crazed glint in his brown eyes, Roman stood and walked to the bushes where he gathered more berries for himself and proceeded to eat them where he stood as more were gathered to take back to his captive. As he turned he spotted a few dents in the soil, no doubt Arania tracks that had he been not burdened by his captive he would have followed more for the pleasure of killing such foul creatures than anything else like survival. But he had a life to take care of and he could hardly go galivanting off into the woods and leave the man alone with no protection from the hazards of the forest. 

He returned to the man’s side with berries in tow, eyes gazing at the man looked into the water at his reflection, hands running over the surface of it lightly as if entranced by what he saw. Roman stopped and crouched next to him, gaze now trained on the woods around them as he dropped the berries onto the leaf and stood once more, twisting his head as the sound of leaves crunching underfoot echoed through the now deadly silent woods. Gone were the calls of birds, all that remained were the bubbling of the river and soft breathing of the two men, but amongst that Roman could hear the distinct sound of leaves being slowly crushed by something heavier than either of them. With a hand on his prisoner’s shoulder, he urged him to eat faster, drink and stand; all of which his captive did before Roman took ahold of his ax and grabbed the hand of his captive, lurching into the stream and muddying the waters with his dirty boots and pants. 

The pair walked through the river, following the water current until the stream of water began to widen, slowly spilling into a deeper and larger river at which point Roman pulled his captive closer and stepped from the waters. Whatever he had heard wouldn’t be able to follow them all the way to where they now stood, ankles dripping with water and cold sinking into their skin once more. His captive shivered and pushed away from him, suddenly looking worried as he backed away from Roman and towards a tree. Roman heaved his ax onto his shoulder and looked around at the forest, eyes narrowing in on the path the river took, heading towards a lake filled with trees. Roman recognized the trees, he’d heard tales of them and seen a few in clusters around rivers and lakes. They grew so their roots dipped below the water into the soil of the lake or river, long skinny trunks led up to grass green and sunflower yellow leaves. The name was lost on him, but he knew that fish and other creatures used them as shelter, so food would not be in short supply. 

Roman smirked lightly and turned to his captive who glared at him from his place against the tree. For a moment Roman faltered, memories resurfacing that he’d long ago pushed to the very recesses of his mind. As he moved to his captive and took his arm he couldn’t help but ask a lingering question that plagued his mind, “why the heck does King Duhn want you? What makes you so special?” His captive didn’t speak, turning his face away from Roman to look at the ground with stormy eyes and an anger that seeped from his body and coiled around Roman’s heart in an ever-tightening grip. Roman gave a slow nod and moved forward, not expecting the pull back from his captive who stayed rooted to his spot, not moving an inch from where he was. “Come on, we have to move”, Roman muttered, pulling at the arm, but not receiving anything but a glare as hard as stone that chilled him and sent shivers up his spine. Something about the man was off, but Roman couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly it was about the man that made him so different from others he’d met. Roman gave the arm one more tug and finally pulled his captive forward to which his captive responded negatively. 

In three moves Roman found his own dagger scraping his neck, his captive quicker than he was with his small stature and revived energy. The man had stumbled into Roman, slammed his fist into Roman’s cheek and pulled away from him, grabbing his dagger in the process. He now stood with both hands gripping the blades handle, eyes stuck on Roman who waited for a second before sighing, his captive was much stupider than he looked. Roman stepped in close and almost smirked as the blade was pulled away from his neck, a step taken backward as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. With a small huff of laughter, Roman grabbed the blade, swung his captive around and pinned him to the forest floor. His captive writhed under his grip, one hand pinned to his back while the other was pinned to the forest floor, dagger still within his grasp as his grip tightened.

Roman let out a sigh and ran his hand from his captive’s wrist to the handle of his blade, inching under until he finally got a grip of it and pulled it away from his prisoner. He slowly stood, tucking the dagger away as he watched his prisoner stand with an angry expression and a displeased look on his face. The look melted away as resignation flowed through him in waves, roman could practically see him drop all his walls as if his stubbornness had finally been broken. Then his eyes lit up, Roman raised an eyebrow at the sudden look of hope that steadily grew into confidence, while his face remained as stony and stoic as ever. And for the first time since the bridge, Roman bore witness to his captive speaking, “take me to Anwir’s castle.”

Roman snorted and took up his ax again, having dropped it on the ground in the scuffle. He looked back at the man and took a step back, “you’re serious?” His captive nodded eagerly, eyes glistening with something Roman hadn’t seen in them since he’d gotten a good look at roman that morning. “Why on earth would I take you to Anwir’s castle?”, Roman asked, already knowing what he’d say and repeating it over in his mind as he waited for it to come from his captive’s mouth. 

“Whatever the king is paying you I can double it”, his captive said and Roman almost rolled his eyes, but he stood tall and kept his gaze on his prisoner with an unbelieving snort that had his captive looking a little grumpy. “I tell the truth. Once there I can pay you double or triple, then I can form an army to take down King Duhn.”  
At that Roman let out a cackle of glee, the mere idea of someone taking down King Duhn was hilarious especially from someone so weak looking. “Listen, precious, Anwir’s army? Peasants with pitchforks and blunt knives, you’ll get nowhere with them.”

“You don’t think I know that? Regardless, you’ll still take me”, his prisoner said with a hint of a smirk in his words. Roman felt a small bit of anger rise at the obvious confidence and uncharacteristic arrogance that his prisoner now wore in place of his skittish shyness and closed off nature. But what awoke the fire in Roman more than any of that, was the fact that his prisoner was one hundred percent right, he’d take the man to Anwir’s castle regardless of how far or troublesome it was just because of the mere offer of more gold than he could carry. The thought of seeing his friend again had been beyond pointless, even King Duhn wouldn’t be able to find his best friend in the entire world and even if he did there was no guarantee that his friend would be alive or remember who he was. Roman highly doubted that his friend’s memory was that strong. 

So regardless of how angry and annoyed he was with his captive, Roman found he would indeed be taking him to Anwir’s castle. He stepped towards his captive and let a sneer pull his lips downward, “I’ll take you to Anwir’s castle, but I want that gold.” Roman pushed past the man and began towards the trees in the water, he knew that they could take shelter and eat there as the sky was beginning to tint with pale orange once more. He’d no idea how long they’d been running and eating by the river, but it seemed that the day was drawing to a close. 

With a shake of his head and a sigh, Roman started to the water and stopped as a few wooden boats began to cross from the trees and move towards them. Roman clenched his teeth and pulled his ax close beside him, a hand and arm extending outwards as if to shield his captive who wandered forward to watch the boats cross the lake. When the boats were halfway across, Roman straightened his back, pushing his shoulders back as if to appear larger than he actually was. Though the lights that dotted the boats, bright dots cast from flaming candles, told him they could be no threat if they found comfort in allowing both sellsword and captive to see them clearly in the descending darkness. 

When the first boat floated close enough for Roman to see the people aboard it, he found himself puzzled. They carried no weapons, but their eyes shone a butterfly wing blue that he couldn’t help but be drawn to. A number of them wore long-sleeved, dark brown dresses, neck cut into a deep V-shape that tapered off near their abdomens. Others wore shirts and pants like his own, but darker with not a speck of dirt in sight. The first, and closest, boat bumped into the shore and Roman pulled his ax up defensively, warning all who dared go near them with the gleam cast by the setting sun. There was a moment of silence before one of the people stepped off, hair short with a mixture of silver and catmint purple mingling in its depths; how such a color was possible on someone so young, Roman would forever be unable to figure out. 

The first to approach them, the silver-haired one, was also the first to speak, though the language used was unlike any Roman had heard before. A garbled mess of foreign words that roughly approximated to, “yabeka te amaron?” There was a popping sound added here and there, though from their combined confused expressions the silver-haired one probably figured out they didn’t know the language, so they tried again with more success, “who are you?”

Roman let out a small sigh of relief that vanished some when his captive stepped forward and held out his hand which was taken in turn by the speaker and turned over a few times before their speaker smiled broadly and dipped into a bow. They turned from the two, moving to the boat they had come from where two others stood side by side, one with hair as dark as night and the other with strands of hazelnut. The pair looked past their silver-haired companion at the two on the shore with doubting eyes but slowly moved from the edge of the boat to make room for the two along with their companion. 

The silver-haired one beckoned the males forward to the boat with their hand, and while Roman hesitated at first, he was quick to follow his captive who walked on with no fear in his eyes. Roman kept his hand on his ax, still not entirely trusting of the three in the boat as the dark haired one lifted their hand and the boat began to move, gently propelling itself back to the other boats still sitting on the water. The sun set completely and Roman felt his eyes widen as a glow began to envelop the water under the boat, like millions of blue stars that trailed behind the boat in a slowly disappearing line. The glow either side was enough to light up his captive’s face as he peered over the side of the boat at the water. Blue light caressing each dip and grove in his face, the darkest parts not even as dark as they should be. 

“Messana jeraposh”, Roman heard their speaker say in a soft tone, and the boat slowed, even more, a smile on all three faces as his captive reached a hand to the water. His fingers traced the blue lights, watching as they swayed around his moving hand as if they were minuscule leaves in the water; passing through his fingers though not clinging to them as if repelled from his skin. Roman had to admit the lights were beautiful, but the smile his captive donned was a close second, all happiness and joy with no further intent other than to enjoy what little was in front of him. That joy over something so small and wonderful infected Roman and he found himself allowing his guard to slip as no immediate danger was indicated, only the smile on his captive’s face at the tiny glowing dots that filled the water. 

“What are they?”, his prisoner asked is a hushed voice, only receiving a soft laugh and a hand movement from their silver-haired speaker. The boat began to move a little faster, sailing through the water as more dots were parted around them and pushed back together in a trail as the vessel carried them towards the trees. 

“They are creatures. Far smaller than any you have seen before and they glow when no light comes from the sky. At night when we use our magic they light up to do our bidding, leading us to our home when we cannot find our way”, their speaker said, pushing a strand of hair behind one ear as Roman’s captive turned to look at them enthralled by everything they were saying. Roman almost chuckled at the wide-eyed and curious expression he was donning for the new revelations of information. “Our ancestors believed them to be servants of gods of water, but now we see them as friends and servants for our people. Our magic binds them and they carry our boats to all corners of the lake, safe in their grasp we ride through the danger that is the water at night. You would not wish to step foot in the water come nightfall. All who have tried to have failed and died.” Roman felt a shiver work its way up his spine at the thought. He wondered what could be in the water that was so dangerous that so many had died; monsters perhaps, or maybe fish that would eat you alive. The idea struck him that perhaps it could be something else in the water that made it so deadly, “you are not far off, warrior. Our waters are our protection, laced with an acidic liquid that will eat flesh and bone upon true nightfall. The water-lings protect out boats and feet when we need to enter the lake, but they can only do so much and once we return to our home you will see first-hand how dangerous the waters are come nightfall.”

“This is not nightfall?”, his captive questioned, face turning towards the darkness above with not a dot of light to be seen. 

Their speaker shook their head, a few tendrils of silver falling into their face that they shoved away quickly, “true nightfall comes when the moon has risen to its highest point and only ends when it dips below the horizon. Before that time, we hide and after it, we wake and celebrate another day being alive. We have seen people wander into the waters for sustenance when the sun has risen but the moon hangs in the sky still. They rest in peace where they once stood.”

The small group turned suddenly quiet, their speaker seemingly wandering off into a dreamlike state as the boat moved ever closer to the trees and other boats. Now Roman could clearly see the other people in their boats, clothes of a similar degree to those worn by their welcoming committee. Roman allowed his hand to once more wrap around his ax, head held high as he looked around at the other two in the boat. Their guide was watching the other boats, eyes never leaving the pools of glittering blue that surrounded them while their other companion stared at the stars coming out, blinking above with a dim light. In a motion the boat sped up, moving faster towards the others as dark clouds shimmied away from something Roman could barely see, though he knew what it was as soon as the clouds fully moved. 

The moon, full and bright stared down at them with a ferocious white light. Nearing the center, it made Roman feel a kind of fear he hadn’t felt in a long time, the kind that chilled him and turned his stomach, all the while entrancing him. He ran a finger over his ax blade, watching as a drop of red blood slithered down to his wrist where it dropped onto the floor of the boat with a soft splat. A hand wound around his wrist and his finger was pulled to the gentle dabbing of a cloth, blood sucked from the wound by his prisoner’s rag. Roman watched in silence as his captive pressed the cloth to his injured finger, eyes stuck on the red as it seeped into the dark brown of the rag. 

Their boat jolted and Roman looked up at their guide who was moving off the boat and onto a large plank of wood that trailed into the trees Roman had seen from the shore. Their other companions moved towards it as well, deserting the boat and disappearing into the darkness of the trees before the lights around the boat dispersed into a large, thin ring. The other boats had already docked and people were scurrying off them into the trees like mice from a hungry cat. Roman pulled away from his captive and motioned for him to follow them into the trees, taking care to heave his captive up first before departing himself. The circle expanded, growing brighter with the new dots from the other boats until the entire of the tree island was surrounded with light. 

Roman ushered his captive down the plank until they came to a ladder and a rope that lead up into the canopy above. His captive took hold first, heaving himself into the trees above as Roman followed behind swiftly. He had to blink as the light exploded into his eyes, sweet orange candlelight bounced around the exposed center of the trees, small houses set near the middle while planks were built off the center into a viewing platform of sorts. People walked to and fro around the center, moving from house to house with an experience neither newcomer had. Roman slid his ax into its place and moved with his captive to their welcoming committee, rotating his shoulders and wincing at the still sore wound. Their group was headed to the center of the small village in the trees, a carved-out section of the middle tree where a sturdy wooden throne had been carved into the tree itself. Upon that throne sat a person with short hair and dark eyes, a smile formed on their lips as they noticed the newcomers amongst the other people of the village. 

“Ashrema Tal-Laya, amaron exvotos terevasta?”, the supposed leader said, though from the tone Roman guessed they’d asked a question to which their speaker responded in kind. 

“Mesh vertos”, their silver-haired speaker said with a glint in their eye, Roman found himself feeling a little more at ease with the look of mischief in their eye. 

Their leader stood and walked towards them, clapping a hand over each shoulder of their silver-haired speaker, taller by a head than the one who could speak their language. They let out a chuckle and looked past at Roman and his captive, “come, come. You are guests tonight, my friends.”

“Thank you”, his captive said, and their leader sent a beaming smile their way as their speaker looked back and smiled just as brightly. 

“Of course, anything for you and your friend”, their leader said, nodding at the two before motioning at their guide and companion, “please allow me to properly introduce myself; I am Terra-Veshta, your guides are Tal-Laya, Jo-Heshto, and Is-Mas.” Terra-Veshta slowly gestured to each as their name was said, their silver-haired speaker dipped into a small bow and promptly whacked their guide on the arm when they refused to do the same.

“I’ll be your translator, should you need one. We are all quite adept at your language, though some of us refuse to learn it still”, Tal-Laya said, wiping a strand of hair form their brow and glaring at Jo-Heshto with dark eyes. 

Their guide rolled their eyes and tuned away with a sulky expression, “I don’t see the point in learning something we shall never have to use. We never leave here, so why should we bother learning what we will not have a use for.”

“I believe it is a wonderful opportunity to learn from another culture”, their brown-haired companion spouted with a bright smile. 

“Only you would be so naïve as to think we could learn anything from these people, Mas”, Jo-Heshto growled, turning their attention to the sky as the moon lifted to its highest point, “it begins.”

Roman and his captive turned to the edge of the canopy as a few children gathered to watch the water, both walking to the planks and staring out at the water. Their host sidled up beside Roman, smile softer but still permanently fixed on their face. The water became still, not a ripple forming before the ring around the tree went dark. Roman bit his lip gently as he watched completely engrossed in the way the water worked as lights, much greener than the dots had been, began to cover the shoreline, circling around the water in a giant ring before the water itself began to glow. As the water glowed softly the cloudiness cleared into a crystal-like clarity and bubbles began to rise to the surface. A fish carcass bobbed up to the surface, bubbles fizzling around it as another and another rose each as dead as the last. Tal-Laya had been right, they were seeing what the water could do at nightfall. 

But even as the unmistakable sadness and disgust that came with death rose in his chest, Roman couldn’t help but allow a tiny smile to form as his captive watched the display with eager eyes. Something about the lights and the water made him happy, whether it was the safety or the beauty the lake provided, it made his prisoner grin just that little bit bigger and that little bit longer.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman learns Logan's identity and makes a decision he regrets.
> 
> Logan spends some time with the village people until all is thrown out of balance by the appearance of warriors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember me? My classes have finished for the year now so I have more time to write yay :) Anyway, this chapter is a little shorter than the others but I wanted to get it out for someone's birthday which I hope goes very well. I know it isn't what you might want from me for your birthday and the chapter is a little violent and sad in places, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. Happy birthday Tor, may it be splendid in every little way

Roman wiped the sleep from his eyes as the light of dawn peeked past the slats of windows in the house he’d been given. While the separation of himself and his prisoner made him anxious, he couldn’t help but be grateful knowing that his prisoner was well taken care of. Light brought with it a new day and Roman felt his mind sharpen to a clearness he hadn’t felt in days, eager to eat and drink with the village in the trees. In the back of his mind he remembered that he’d promised to take his captive to Anwir’s castle, but with this discovery that his prisoner could stay here and live a life of safety, he’d be happy with not getting his reward this one time. 

After pulling on his shirt and boots, tucking his gloves away in the guest house and hiding his weapons, Roman headed out into the bustle of the village, he had to admit the people had done well for themselves. There was chatter and music playing, people dancing in the middle of a circle of onlookers while flutes and drums were played. Clapping and singing mixed with the sound of others trading produce and linens, the sun rising high into the sky as laughter filled the air. The entire village seemed untouched by grief or sadness of any sort and Roman allowed himself to enjoy the happiness that had washed over the village overnight. 

For a while he wandered around the houses, listening to the flutes and drums, the laughter of children running through alleyways and passages. Everything seemed light and jovial, playful and bright in contrast to Roman’s usual surroundings of death and murder. Roman kept walking until he found the centre of the village, where he’d been not seven hours before. The people he’d come to know the names of were milling around, wooden cups in their hands full of a sweet-smelling beverage that sparkled dark red in the light. The sun danced off leaves and cups of the potent drink, chatter a tad quieter than that which surrounded the centre. 

After a moment of searching Roman concluded that his captive was nowhere in sight and moved towards his host, Terra-Veshta. Maneuvering through the small groups of people was a lot less tricky than Roman had originally thought, without his weapons he moved quickly, no heavy axe to weigh him down or copious amounts of metal and knives. Though he moved quickly, he found himself losing his host in the bustle of the crowded area. The people seemed to ebb in the flow near the very centre of the tree, so Roman made his way there and dug his hands into the bark, clambering into the branches where lights hung in a spread-out pattern, illuminating the area below with an orange-tinted glow. 

From the branches Roman not only found his host but his captive as well, the two walking side by side as they moved further from the crowds and towards the edge of the village. Roman followed, scrabbling for purchase along the branches as he made quick work of tailing the pair to the edge. As they stopped on the outskirts Roman continued, stopping when he found a suitable spot and listening in on what the pair were saying. 

“Your father is not getting any easier to deal with”, Terra-Veshta murmured softly, eyes caught on the glint of the lake as the sun shone down with a bright white shine. Roman’s captive nodded solemnly, seeming equally upset at the mention of his father. Terra-Veshta continued on, “you may stay here as long as you require, but from what I’ve heard in the voices of my ancestors, you intend to carry on to Anwir’s castle in hopes of refuge.”

“That was the plan. I will not deny, your village is wonderful, but I do not wish to place such a lovely group in danger”, his captive said, voice hushed with a tone of sorrow and pain. Roman leaned in a little closer, making sure he was covered in the darkness of the branches as he did so. 

“Your Royal Highness is most kind. We will shelter you and your companion as long as we can”, Terra-Veshta murmured in a low but enthusiastic tone, the tips of their lips twitching upwards. Roman leant back a tad stunned. All the time he’d been travelling with this mysterious prisoner of King Duhn, he’d been travelling with a prince, would the man never cease to amaze him.

“Please, Logan will do. Though I will take you up on your offer for a day or so, my companion may stay longer though I doubt he will stay instead of reaping the fruits of his labour”, the prince said, voice tinged with humour as he spoke. The sellsword almost choked, he knew of only one Prince Logan in the entirety of his travels; Prince Logan Duhn, son of King Duhn. Things were beginning to make sense, and now Roman felt as if he’d have to start from the beginning once more with all the new information he had been given. 

But first, he needed to leave the safety of the branches and slip down to the village once more. He was about to move back before he heard the tell-tale cracking sound of a branch breaking and, in a sudden moment of not so bright thinking, he dropped from the branch and landed in a crouched position next to both prince and host. The pair gave him a knowing look and continued to talk, their words drowned out by the blood pumping through Roman’s veins and echoing in his ears. He stood on shaky legs and looked out at the lake, luminescence gone with the moon as animals grazed on the surrounding plant life and decomposing corpses of washed-up fish. 

Roman’s heartbeat eventually stopped wailing and began to pitter and patter against his ribcage once more. Back on track the sellsword made for a hasty retreat from the presence of the two still calmly exchanging words as the sun rose high over the top of the tree. Shaking his head Roman began his walk to his hut, thinking things over and mulling the possibilities of what was to come. His thoughts took a negative turn when he remembered the way he had treated the prince; roughly handling him and growling at him. They were small things, but a person like the prince, if he were anything like his father Roman would be dead as soon as he entered Anwir’s castle. The prince would be safe here and surely some of the more skilled warriors would be able to accompany him to Anwir’s castle. 

As he entered his house Roman found his mind already dead set on leaving. He’d seen the animals grazing in the lake below, meaning that the lake would be safe to walk through, he could leave without anyone even knowing he was gone. Roman pulled out his gloves and axe, running his fingers over the shining metal as he sat heavily on the edge of his bed. Something in him didn’t want to leave the prince here, alone, but a stronger part of him agreed that the most sensible tactic would be to leave him here. King Duhn would never know he was here, and he’d be safe, kept away from the horrors that would befall him should the king find him. 

Roman tugged the gloves over his hands and sighed softly, closing his eyes and running the leather-clad fingers over his eyelids. Perhaps a few minutes of sleep would do him some good, a short nap and then he could be on his way. Roman fell back, head hitting the soft hay mattress as sleep overtook his senses. The barrier between consciousness and sleep wore thin in his mind, half-awake and half-asleep dozing and toeing the line between two states of mind. When he eventually came to on his bed and wiped his eyes free of tiredness he noticed how the sun was dipping, past the halfway mark it now lay in the sky merely a few hours from setting. Roman quickly jumped from the bed, seizing his small window of opportunity and gathering what little items he had before moving out of the house at a casual pace. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion, but he still needed to get away from the village as fast as possible before the moon came up and he lost his chance to leave. 

It took less than a minute to find the exit, unguarded and open to his needs. Roman took one look back, spotting his captive – Logan, Prince Logan Duhn – once more where he stood chatting with Terra-Veshta. Something in him held him there, staring at the prince for longer than he probably should’ve, but eventually, his wits returned and Roman dropped down the ladder, slinking through the branches and roots until at last, he was that the water’s edge. He waded through the muck and mud that lay underneath the water’s surface before he finally crept to the heady brush that half surrounded the lake, tall grasses reaching for the sky. Roman entered the grasses, looked back at the village once and noticed briefly how the sky had begun to dim, darkness encroaching on the light’s territory once more. A figure in the canopy of the village waved at him and Roman resisted the urge to wave back, the saddened yet reluctant face of Tal-Laya the last part of the village he saw before ducking into the reeds.

_____________

Logan sighed gently as the light finally descended below the horizon, warm rays trickling over the tops of thin-leafed trees as the green changed to a mix of yellow and orange in the wake of the sinking light source. The water around the tree dulled, the glitter of rebounding light dispersed as, finally, the lake water was less a pool of white and more a reflective surface. A leaf from the tree disturbed the still pool, ripples moving in slow succession to the edges where they finally dispersed, and the lake once again stilled. 

While everyone else was gathered for their dinner, Logan remained watching the horizon as if it would give him some answer on what to do. Terra-Veshta had been an excellent source of advice, but some of the things they’d said were bringing doubt to Logan’s mind; of course he wanted to continue his journey, if only to see Anwir and perhaps keep the people of this village safe, but Terra-Veshta had vehemently restated time and again that their village in the trees was the safest place Logan could be while his father searched for him. The next step for Logan, whatever he chose to do, was up to him to put into action. Either leave the village and find Anwir or stay with the village and risk the chance of putting them in danger for the sake of feeling secure. 

Logan sighed, hands coming up to cup his face as he rested his elbows on a section of wooden railing that ran the length of the balcony. The sun was still setting, but stars began to fade in as the light faded out, dots of silvers twinkling above like far-off torches composed of the hottest fire. Burning white lights dancing like lovers in the dark abyss above while onlookers enjoyed the performance that had been seen by those before and would continue to be seen by those who came after. Logan shook his head, brown strands stinging his cheeks slightly with the force of the shake and the now chilling wind. 

Little had been told to Logan of Terra-Veshta’s people, he didn’t know of their generations’ old customs or their newer adapting traditions. He was an outsider, observing their lives and listening to every word that fell from parted lips. But with the night closing in on the little village in the trees and Logan needing some alone time, he found himself watching the stars, isolated from the cheerful chatter of the people and the ever-present happiness they carried in their wake. However nice it was to be around people again it was nicer to have somewhere to go when the chatter grew too loud and the ever-present voices too grating. He could blame it on not having been around real people for years, the sudden presence of more than one person at a time too much for him to handle at points. But where he was, alone with the stars and the brilliant colours of the setting sun, here he was free. 

Logan smiled a little at the thought, freedom which had once only been a twinkle in the eye of a bird passing his window, gone in seconds while he remained where he was. Now he had attained some level of that freedom and with it, he was able to enjoy the little things that had once been reminders of his lack of freedom from his father. The air tasted sweeter, the stars burned even more brightly than they had outside his window. Where once they taunted him with the wild expanse of the dark sky, now he could join them in his own wild and wide expanse of freedom, beautiful and fresh. Now he was away from the castle, away from his father, away from everything he’d once been a part of they welcomed him with open and inviting arms. Their glittering was almost animated in a way, the twinkle of the something so out of reach yet so gentle sparked a warm feeling in the heart Logan carried. On instinct he reached for his finger, realising quickly the ring was not there and for a moment panicking before feeling the weight around his neck and allowing the panic to subside. 

Looking up again Logan quickly connected the dots in his head, humming gently as his eyes roamed from one star to another, then he spotted something approaching. A shooting star crossed the sky, burning bright as it tore a trail of white through the navy spread. Logan closed his eyes, the star’s image burned into his memory as he imagined a whole sky filled with such things, trails of comets and stars running trails of silver through the cosmos. Logan opened his eyes and gasped softly as another star ran through the sky, then another this one a little bit lower and something caught Logan’s attention. The stars seemed to get lower and lower with every pass until one seemed to bolt right for the spot next to Logan and he had to dodge sideways to miss it. Once he regained his footing, he finally saw what the stars had been; fire-tipped arrows that burned orange. Logan looked at the shore’s edge where the arrow had come from and felt his body seize up at the sight of a dozen men armed with fire tipped arrows, aiming for the trees. 

In his haste to get to Terra-Veshta Logan may have tripped and grazed his knees but when he reached the leader of the small village, he knew they’d already seen what he’d seen. People rushed about around him, some carrying what appeared to be barrels of sweet wine while others carried children, still sleeping as they were taken to the base of the tree village for safety. Terra-Veshta stood their ground, calling orders to the people before having to duck as an arrow pierced the tree next to him, burning hot and out of control as the fire sparked from the tree’s trunk to the leaves above, setting them ablaze as ash quickly spiralled into the dark sky. Logan had little to no time to react as a barrage of arrows rained through the canopy of leaves, skewering people with lightning-fast efficiency. The blood circulating around Logan’s body seemed to be all he could hear, the screams of the village people too much for him as he froze in place. He kept looking around, hoping it was all a terrible dream he’d soon awake from, but the arrows rained hard and fast with no mercy. 

Fire licked at burned flesh, parents screaming for their children as the sound of splashing was heard. The trees were aflame around them, orange tongues licking at tree bark and scorching the sky above with a greed for more than what they had been given to eat. Below the boats were given the same treatment, no escape possible as the village was left to burn into the night. The ones who had set the village on fire crossed through the waters in their own boats, but no attention was paid to them as they dismounted and began the slaughter fest, killing all who survived the barrage of arrows. 

Logan gripped the ring tightly, hiccupping as tears began to race down his cheeks at what was befalling those who had taken him in. Their hopes he would be safe fading fast as his lungs squeezed against the smoke and he breathed in what he could through quaking lips. He knew he was the cause of this, the fire and their deaths hanging heavy on his mind as he curled in on himself, knees dug into the wooden platforms not already scorched as he let his sobs take hold, shaking the foundations of his being. A presence befell him, someone’s hand running through his hair in soothing motions that made him look up. The face of someone he’d come to love like a brother smiled back at him, Terra-Veshta still hoping he was safe and unharmed though the leader’s face was half burned, the raw skin making Logan’s stomach turn somersaults. 

“None of this is your doing, my prince”, the voice crackled out through chapped and dried lips, one eye closed while the other depicted kindness like no other had shown to Logan since he was small, “this is their doing, not yours. You are not at faul…”

Logan shivered in horror, a sword blade protruding from Terra-Veshta’s neck. Slick silver coated in slicker red blood, dripping from the tip and sides as the leader of the village made a soft gurgling sound and drops of red pearled at the ends of their lips. The leader coughed gently as the blade slid back out, blood finally spilling from their lips as they dropped onto their side, remaining eye devoid of life as at last Terra-Veshta lay still. 

With eyes full of terror and sadness Logan gazed up at the one who had slaughtered the leader of the village and felt his body shut down, mind whirring but muscles unresponsive to any commands he had to give them. The sword that had killed Terra-Veshta flicked to the side, blood droplets staining the burning wood as the full figure emerged from towering orange fire that shielded them into a dark silhouette. Shimmering gold and splattered with the quickly drying crimson substance, so dark against the metal it seemed black, the sword cut through the fire with ease, swiping it aside like an intangible curtain of heat. 

The man who stepped out had shaggy cedar coloured hair that shone in places like the silver of his blade, his face was lined from his years as youth left the face gaunt and with only a clipped, short beard to accompany a set of silvering bronze eyes. With the fire licking around him in a circle Logan could only guess as to how else he looked, other features eluding his gaze. The man looked him over and a smirk lifted one corner of his lips, tongue slipping out to wet the dried pair of what must have once been lustrous pink lips. He stepped forward and Logan took in all of the man that was now exposed; large and broad he stood near the height of the sellsword, clothes singed and burned by the fire but still high class in make and model. From the look of it the man was of noble blood, perhaps some sort of duke out on a hunting trip, but to do something so horrible to a group of innocent and non-threatening people was pure madness.

“We meet face to face once more”, the man said, eyes roaming Logan’s figure before landing on his eyes, a twinge of hunger entered the greying pools that had Logan shivering. There was something off about the noble, something strangely dark that screamed that no person should wield it. His voice was rough and though Logan felt as if he recognised it, he did not recognise the face that accompanied it. The voice was too young for someone so old looking, far too rough and wild like that of a youth half this man’s age. “Come, I wish for you to return home immediately”, the man said, slowly sheathing his sword as if showing Logan what would happen should he refuse, the blood caked blade disappearing slowly into the thick leather scabbard at his side. From the look of it, it seemed to be decorated with swirls and gems that glittered like stars in a golden rim. It looked far too regal for a mere nobleman, but Logan didn’t have much time to contemplate the regality of the scabbard as a hand wrapped around his arm with enough force to bruise, “come along, boy. Remind me to send my men after your captor, his job was to bring you back not help you escape further.”

Logan almost lurched to his feet at the idea, but a second voice cut through the flames and almost made Logan scream for joy. The voice was roughened from the smoke, but the axe blade thrust out to the neck of the nobleman from the flames was familiar enough, “let him go, old man.”

The man let go, slowly inching back as the axe blade gently scraped his neck, a few stray hairs falling from his beard as the sellsword grabbed Logan from behind and pulled him up by the back of his shirt, pushing himself in front of his captive before taking a step back with Logan following his example. His captor just barely gave him warning before turning and tugging him through the flames, wrapping his cloak around Logan and charging through the fire into the middle of the blaze where the ladders down were. Logan could hear the nobleman cackle high and loud, the flames seeming only to get hotter around him as the sellsword pushed him down the ladder and out into the small lake, not yet populated with the glowing lights of an acidic reaction. 

When Logan was finally allowed to look back at the flaming trees, they were far into the reeds, a few minutes run from what once had been a village in the centre of the lake. They both heaved in breaths of fresh air, staring back at the climbing tangle of orange flames and black smoke, ash creating a cloud above it all. Away from the chaos and death Logan finally let loose a sob for all he’d lost and for unintentionally causing such a catastrophe to take place. Terra-Veshta’s face resurfaced in his mind, eyes so youthful and loving with a smile as bright as the sun. Logan allowed the tears to freely fall down his cheeks, trailing through the ash on his face to form shameful tracks. He knew he must look a mess, but such is what he deserved. 

He must have been stopped too long because a hand gently took one of his own and soothed the soft skin of the back of his hand with large calloused fingers. The sellsword seemed saddened as well, whether out of grief or out of pity, Logan didn’t know. They turned away from the fire, his saviour walking before him with one gentle hand clasping his own, more than he deserved but the action was what he truly needed at that moment. 

By the break of day, they’d left the reeds and entered the forest again, this time one more like the one they’d left, tall white trees with thin green leaves and a floor full of decaying brown ones that they trampled into the dirt. Logan stumbled over and over again until at last they stopped, the sellsword pulling Logan to the side and pushing his shoulders gently until at last he dropped to his knees and pulled them up to his chest, grieving silently as he listened to the sellsword move around him. The cloak the man had was draped around his shoulders and he was quietly told to stay where he was before his saviour moved away to sort out the trail they’d left in their haste to get away. 

When his saviour finally came back it was nearly noon, the sun having risen high in the sky, but Logan couldn’t bring himself to care too much. Sadness stung his soul, heart heavy with a loss unlike any he’d felt since he was young. The cloak around his shoulders felt heavier with each moment, warmer than the fire and part of him wanted to throw it off. So guilt-ridden was he that he felt unworthy of the cloak, he wasn’t the one who should bear it and he certainly wasn’t worth enough after killing the innocents of the village. Surely the sellsword would return and take it from him, finally realising that he shouldn’t have such things to keep him warm. If he caught a cold or ran a fever the next day than it would be something he truly deserved. 

“It wasn’t your fault”, said the rough voice of the one he’d travelled with for a few short days now, though in those days Logan felt as if he knew so much more about the man than he’d been led to believe.  
Logan turned his head a little, looking the sellsword in the eyes for a time, “it was. Those people were there for me, had I not been there or had I been gone those people would have been spared.”

“Look your royal pain the ass-ness, I saved you and I had good reason to. Stop moping about and feeling sorry for yourself, so what some people came after you and hurt other people, those tree folks would have been found out and killed eventually.”

“But they would have lived longer without my being there.”

“But they would have nothing. You can’t change the past so just move on already, it’s not like you were with them for years or anything.”

Logan glared at the sellsword and turned his head away, eyes landing on the trunk of a spindly white tree, “they were my friends, sellsword.”

“Friends? You knew how much about them?”, the sellsword questioned, the sting in his voice made Logan flinch. No doubt words spoken less to Logan and more to himself, but Logan chose to take them to heart instead.

“Terra-Veshta was like a brother to me”, Logan growled out, eyes blazing with anger as tears threatened to spill down his cheeks once more. He wiped them away and flinched once more as ash entered his eyes. Something cold and hard bumped into his arm and he took it gingerly, fingering the top of it and realising it to be the sellsword’s canteen full of water. He splashed some into his eyes, wincing at the cool sting but keeping his mouth shut as the sellsword dropped down beside him, moving so his back was against the tree next to Logan.

“A brother, huh? Lost one?”, the sellsword asked quietly as if remembering one of his own.

Logan let out a soft grunt, not objecting to the analysis but not encouraging it. He’d not talked to anyone about his past in years, it seemed long overdue, but he couldn’t seem to get the words out. The sellsword seemed to notice his lack of involvement in the conversation. He nodded sagely, huffed a soft sigh and moved a little closer to Logan. Logan turned his head to look at the man properly taking in the everything from his umber eyes to the crisscross of white scars on the side of his face. There were dark shadows under his eyes, lack of sleep surely weighing on him as much as it did Logan. 

“Look, you don’t have to answer. Just buck up enough so we can get moving onto Anwir’s castle, I want to reach it before we get caught up in another one of those fights.”

“What is your name?”, Logan spoke without meaning to, though as soon as the words surfaced, he settled into his place changing his look of utter misery for one of curiosity. The man didn’t seem too surprised, but his face shifted a little into darkness as if his name was something he didn’t want to think about let alone allow someone to know about. Logan waited for a second, thinking of name after name that the sellsword could have. Surely if his name were that of a criminal he would know Logan wouldn’t know of it, if his name were that of a hero Logan would also not know of it. He knew the sellsword now knew who he was so the sellsword knew he’d been held captive for years on end by his father, at least he hoped the man knew of that.

After what seemed like minutes Logan had fallen into his mind, thinking through his life in the castle and what name the sellsword could have. Then he heard a cough, light and soft but enough to draw his attention back to his companion. The sunlight that filtered through the canopy above struck the sellsword’s eyes, umber becoming lighter as twinkling flecks of gold flickered between being able to be seen and not being able to be seen. At that moment Logan was awestruck by the sellsword, his striking eyes and lily-white scars, he seemed ethereal in the light of the sun. He seemed to shine, tan skin glittering with sweat and water residue. 

“Roman. You can call me Roman.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan has a tiny cry because he's emotionally unstable and full of guilt while Roman tries to keep them alive in and, in the heat of the moment, almost gets them drowned and killed. But luckily they survive (because protagonists are like cockroaches) and meet up with a centaur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was longer than I was planning, but hopefully, it sounds and reads alright. I was meant to introduce Virgil and Patton properly in this chapter but since I spent so long on everything else they'll have to wait until the next chapter, sorry...
> 
> But if the rate of this chapters completion is anything to go by the next one should be out relatively soon, so long as I spend more time on writing this than on any other stories I'm writing at present. Anyway, long story short the next chapter should be out in the next few weeks if I keep my creative juices flowing. For now, I hope the chapter appeases most of you and I hope the length isn't too offputting <3
> 
> P.S. let me know if you spot any inconsistencies, I try to read back through chapters to remind myself of the story, but I know I can be inconsistent and I can skip things while reading by accident. If you spot any of those or any grammar/spelling mistakes I would like to know and change them, thank you for your continued support :)

They fell asleep soon after, both too tired to comprehend much more than the light falling through the leaves above. Bodies slowly falling into one another as afternoon light filtered into dusk and from dusk to night, stars watching the pair and blessing them in their quest to keep the prince safe. True one of them knew not what they were keeping him safe from, but thoughts of gold wound tendrils of greed through his dreams and coerced him into fulfilling his quest. 

By the next morning, dewdrop diamonds sparkling against leaves and skin, both felt much more well rested than they had previously. Now calloused hands flittered to catch the small droplets that clung to ochre strands of hair, the soft awakening something both found pleasant inlay of all that had transpired the previous few days. Thinking back to the monsters and those born to look like monsters was not pleasant, but it reminded them of their survival up to that point, however the sun told them all too clearly that the next day had begun and with it fears of both warriors and other monsters catching up to them accelerated their heartbeats and forced them into line. 

While Roman walked off to gather food they could eat, Logan clung to the cloak he’d been given by the sellsword, slowly coming to terms that now the village was destroyed, and he knew others were after him, he would have to continue travelling on foot to reach Anwir’s castle as soon as possible. Every little rustle of the world around him made him tense, every bird call pushed him closer to the edge, every second alone with no one to keep him from insanity and no one to keep him safe was a moment he drew further from anxiety and closer into the depths of uncertain, heart-pounding terror. But somewhere in his fear-ridden mind he came up with a plan, Roman was taking far too long to gather food and the people sent after him would no doubt be tracking them by now if they were not already, therefore it made sense to begin the journey on without the sellsword, no matter how afraid of going alone he was. 

Standing from the ground Logan found his footing and proceeded to wrap the cloak around him tightly, settling on one end of the large piece of fabric being flung over one shoulder. His legs were exposed to the cool morning air, but Logan had little doubt in his mind that the move would impede him, more than likely should he be chased having at least one end of the cloak off the ground would increase his chances of running away and would prevent him from tripping on the large fabric covering. With one concern dealt with Logan began to walk towards the sun, looking around him as he passed bushes and trees, trampled leaves into the ground and moved slower than he’d have liked. However, the air was fresh with the smell of new dawn, the dew gathered in his hair and on his face had been refreshing and once he’d begun to walk, he found the calls of birds pleasant. The dappled sunlight filtering through the moss green leaves above him combined with the soft crunch of leaves under his feet was just the right amount of wonder and mystique, his imagination sparking to life as he thought of what it would be like to live in such a wondrous place where every tree and leaf seemed perfectly placed for the right amount of ambience. He wondered if this was how Roman felt when travelling from place to place, would the sellsword stop to take in the beauty around him or travel on already having seen it all before?

The sound of rushed footsteps startled Logan from his thoughts and he turned back to see the aforementioned man racing towards him with anger plain on his features. Logan slowed and finally stopped, somewhat sheepish over leaving Roman behind when he thought the idea was such a good one at that. Roman doubled over when he reached the prince, out of breath and trying to gain what he’d lost while Logan stood back guiltily. 

“Where the heck do you think you’re going?”, Roman spat out once he finally regained some breath in his lungs, face reddened and eyes rage filled. Logan had to take a step back, some surprise takin over the guilt he still felt, sheepishly rubbing his right forearm while averting Roman’s intense glare. The sellsword wasn’t having it though, “well?”

“I”, Logan paused, trying to think of words to say but finding none that fit with what he wanted to say nor any that would foreseeably keep him from Roman’s barely contained rage. So the truth came forward from his tongue tied mouth, “I wanted to start on my way to Anwir’s.”

Roman seemed to deflate a little, rage only just morphing into intense anger at Logan’s fearfully delivered words. He still sighed and placed a hand to his forehead to massage his temples, “do you know the way to Anwir’s castle from this forest?”

At this question Logan felt the flush of blood enter his cheeks, quickly realising he’d been wandering aimlessly without a goal. He didn’t know how to get to Anwir’s castle from where he was and thus had been, to put it mildly, losing himself in the forest more than he already had. “I figured it was in the way I was heading.”

“Well, it isn’t. Now we have to go back”, Roman’s voice was gruff, far rougher than he probably should have been with how emotionally unstable Logan would be at this point, but the timidness of his answers and the shyness he portrayed increasingly seemed to rub him the wrong way. However, he was here to escort the prince to Anwir’s and perhaps find out some details of his life on the way along with gaining his fortune. He had to keep reminding himself why he was doing something so unusually unlike him in the first place, watching Logan like a newborn babe was not what he had planned to do for the past few days and he was nowhere close enough to his own emotions to be able to comfort Logan when it came to the prince’s own. So, his usual three routes of talking to people – calmly, gruffly and flirtingly – seemed to be thrown out of the window when tears began to bead at the bottoms of the prince’s eyes. 

Roman was out of his depth, not sure where to go and honestly completely hopeless when it came to comforting someone else, but if the prince started crying they’d never get anywhere. So, with the level of his discomfort rising and his own emotions flaring, Roman stepped towards the prince and pulled him into a stiff hug. His actions weren’t returned but the man in his arms didn’t shy away or begin to wail as Roman had half expected him to, still minorly convinced the prince would turn into the stubborn ass most other young royal figures were when he met them. A lot of the time he chose to completely ignore them unless there was money in it for him, but in this case not only was money in it for him but a chance to save his head from ending up on the chopping block. No doubt the prince hated him; he’d chased the prince, made him sleep in unbearable conditions, nearly gotten him killed multiple times, had to be saved by the prince, left the prince alone and nearly gotten him killed once more, and now he had made the prince cry. If he had any luck at all it was being spent on them not getting captured by the men from the village in the trees, and by the time they reached Anwir’s he doubted there would be much left of it, most likely if they made it to Anwir’s castle at all he’d be imprisoned for even touching a royal without permission. He’d heard tales of Anwir, knew stories about peasants who’d been killed for touching the castle walls, surely a man who felt royalty was so above anyone else would have him executed on the spot for merely trailing a few feet in front or behind the prince, depending on how they arrived but Roman knew he wouldn’t be caught next to royalty no matter how much the prince may need him as a shoulder to lean on after such a journey. Scratch that maybe helping the prince would give him at the very least a banishment and at the best a pardon with a few coins for his troubles. Those coins, oh they would be spent on any liquor he could get his hands on to forget this whole ordeal.

“Thank you”, it was muffled by his shirt but Roman heard it, and certainly felt the distinct tingling of a shiver running up his spine as the prince pulled back looking at him with a small smile of appreciation. Roman stepped back with a soft cough, running a hand over the front and back of his neck, checking to make sure it was still intact before glancing up at his charge. The prince stood in sunlight, white rays caressing his back and cheeks as soft amber eyes watched on, waiting for the sellsword’s next move. Roman straightened, standing at his full height and wondering how even at his full height he could feel so small in comparison to his charge. 

Roman’s reply was as gruff as every other word he’d spoken since that morning, “you’re welcome”. It was rushed but he had other things to think about in regard to where they were and how to get to their destination. Should he continue the way Logan had planned them to go or should he choose some other way to continue their journey, one that may lead to them finding some sort of settlement before reaching Anwir’s castle where they could eat and drink as much as they wanted, seeing as Logan was a prince and the taverns would be wise to allow him to have as much as he wanted. The idea of using Logan’s standing as a bargaining tool had never really struck Roman before that moment, but he was quick to latch onto it. If he were lucky, they’d be able to get the best rooms in the taverns as well, just by fact of Logan being Prince Logan Duhn with a true, high-class title to his name. 

With his mind set on drink strong enough to leave him unconscious, Roman set his course in his mind. From their location and the fact Logan had been following the sun, it was easy to plot a route to the closest town. Taking a step towards Logan, Roman offered his hand and rubbed the back of the prince’s softly with his thumb, finding the skin cold and smooth unlike his own, warm with the thick blood of a hunter flooding his veins and scarred from his many fights. It was a miracle in its own right he’d not lost any fingers yet, and he planned to keep it that way.

“Follow me. We’ll reach Anwir’s in two day’s time”, Roman muttered, speaking less to Logan and more to himself as he left the hand and walked past Logan into the forest, leaving his cloak with the skinner, shorter male and not waiting for Logan to catch up. If they could reach the edge of the forest by dusk, they’d have a chance of not only getting to the closest town by the middle afternoon tomorrow, but they’d also stay out of the way of those warriors from the village. Luckily Roman hadn’t spotted them yet but moving slower would be a death sentence for sure. 

They walked on, feet crunching on the dead and dying leaves with every step as Roman lead them onward. With the sun high enough in the sky the light wasn’t glaring into Roman’s eyes every time he looked forward, they moved a little slower as Logan trailed behind in the cloak he’d been given. Surely if they were to reach Anwir’s castle, and with Roman’s anger towards him for abandoning him before, they would have begun heading in a different direction, but they trudged on and through all the leaves sunshine rained into tiny patches of brilliant light that glossed the leaves in their path. 

With every step and every piece of land they covered Roman seemed more appeased and happier than the last, Logan keeping track of his expressions as they walked so, he knew when to talk and when to remain quiet. He didn’t speak until an hour into their journey, intending to ask Roman if they could stop for a bite of food as his stomach had been aching for the better part of the hour. His question never passed his lips however as soon as he began to speak Roman turned around to him with wide eyes. A hand was sent to his mouth to silence him as the sellsword quickly dragged them behind a tree, peeking around it and keeping the hand over Logan’s mouth. In the rush, Logan hadn’t had the time to consider what Roman was trying to keep him from but once his heart stopped pounding so terribly loudly, he heard the tell-tale sounds of leaves being crushed, softly and far away but still there in between the bird calls and sounds of rushing rivers.

The sounds of leaves being crushed underfoot didn’t stop but Roman did remove his hand when Logan batted at his wrist and lower arm, each held their breath, though it was clear the group was too far away to hear them breathing and it was Roman who eventually figured out what to do. Taking Logan’s left wrist in his right hand, he turned to face Logan, “don’t make a sound.”

The prince nodded to Roman’s demand and Roman began to move, walking slowly through the trees in specific areas where the leaves were less dense and less dry. Logan could hear his heart thudding in his ears, feel it pounding nearly out of his chest, blood rushing through his body as adrenaline filled his veins. The bird calls were drowned out easily by every step he took, each cracking leaf sounding like detonating cannons in his ears, even the smallest break seemed to be amplified enough to send his mind reeling while Roman moved steadily on ahead of him, tugging at his wrist as they began to walk faster with Roman now in the habit of spotting places where leaves were less plentiful. 

Logan didn’t really know how it happened, perhaps because his legs were shorter than Roman’s or because he wasn’t paying as much attention to his surroundings as he should have, but for a second, he was airborne and the next he was on his face in the dirt and his ankle was stinging with pain. As it so happened he’d tripped over a bush that had most of its roots out in the open, one foot wedged under a loop of thick nutrient carrying fibres while Roman was pulled back down with him, landing on his lower back with a sharp yelp as Logan’s eyes once again began to water, all of the emotions of the situation finally catching up to him at that moment. Even as the fear of his situation and the anxiety caught up to him, he could hear the sounds of feet thundering through the undergrowth, Roman tugging at him to get up and keep going while the world blurred, and he was left a quivering mess of tears and terror.

His foot was moved without his input and a second later Roman was dragging him, stumbling through the trees as his ankle burned and stung. The sounds of the warriors getting closer and closer only made Logan want to cry more, but when Roman turned his head to Logan his expression made it extremely clear. If Logan started bawling while they were trying to escape, and they got caught, Roman would kill him in the worst possible way he knew. Logan instantly regained his composure, wanting to at the least be able to seem and appear as royal as he was meant to be. It worked remarkably well, for someone so lost in grief and emotion, Logan was able to keep step with Roman enough that the tugging soon became Roman just holding Logan’s wrist as they fled in hopes of staying alive. 

Logan closed his eyes for a second, hoping for once it was a dream and that he was back in his cramped cell waiting for his father to wake him with a bowl of cold porridge and the rattling of suits of armour, but opening them he found it all too real. Especially when Roman sent them tumbling down a hillside into a small valley where their pained groans filled the air. Logan’s head ached, his body sore from the fall and worst of all he could still hear the loud sounds of footsteps pounding the ground in search of them. He was lucky there was as a stream nearby and, remembering Roman’s actions earlier in their journey, grabbed Roman’s hand and sprinted to the small stream of water. The splashing was loud, sure enough, but as the stream widened into a shallow river and then into a slightly deeper river without the warriors finding them, Logan couldn’t be forced to care as escaping their clutches was the only thing on his mind. 

And it should have come as no surprise that with his head turned to search the trees for the warriors, blood pumping loud enough to leave him without any hearing and Roman still out of it from landing on his back and almost breaking his spine over the handle of his axe, that neither of them realised how close they had come to a large waterfall. Since Logan was the one leading, he was the first to fall, followed almost by Roman who ended up dropping to his knees in the river to grab Logan’s hand as he dangled from the twenty-foot drop into the river below while water poured over him. It took a mere second for Roman’s grip on the rock beside him to slip, his knees no were near supportive enough on the algae-covered smooth rocks and they tumbled over the side into the pool below with a splash. 

It was only through numerous instances of jumping from heights such as that and into rivers such as this that Roman was able to drag himself to the surface of the gently flowing water and with him his captive, pulling the heavyweight through the water and to the shore where he lay Logan on his back and collapsed onto this own himself, it would be highly unlikely then that the warriors would find them after their tumble into the waterfall, most likely thinking they’d travelled out of the river before that point. The heaviness of their breathing mingled with the calls of the birds above them and the sound of the gushing waterfall, nothing seemed quite so loud as their own staggered breaths at that moment though. Neither posited a word for quite some time, both just waiting for the blood in their ears to lessen its intense pulsing as their hearts simmered their beating to a gentle and rhythmic thud. 

With their chance to actually relax for a second the pair took in all that was around them, marvelling at the waterfall they’d fallen from. The area was much like the rest of the forest; the trees were a mixture of brown and white-barked trees, the leaves above much more varied than they had been in the previous area they’d walked through, the waterfall was a sensuous white blur of water with rocks lined in green moss and brown algae framing it, the sunlight hit the water of the river just right enough that the glare had vanished into depicting to them what lay beneath the water while the soft flow of the river itself continued down the bank they’d crawled onto. Pebbles of all shapes and sizes, colours and textures covered the bank, the closest trees of the forests edge craning over above them like worried mothers as the leaves and canopy shielded them from the harsh and warm light of the sun. 

Logan sat up, eyes wandering around the new area before he remembered the ring and quickly brought his hand to his chest to search for the iron band that lay beneath the now soaked shirt. He breathed easier finding it, running the pad of his index finger over the shank before letting it be and turning his eyes to Roman. The sellsword now stood, assessing his weaponry and checking for missing or lost goods before mumbling something and turning his gaze to Logan.

“I’m going to bathe. Stay here if you want or go a little downstream and bathe yourself”, Roman murmured out before dropping the gear he carried into a heap on the bank of the river, his shirt removed along with his boots and gloves before he stopped, seemingly deciding if he should take off his pants or leave them on, a quick glance at Logan solidifying his answer as he turned and rolled up the ends before wading into the waters up to his chest. 

Logan sat on the bank, eyes torn between tracing the scars on Roman’s chest and looking around him so as not to seem to be prying. The area was beautiful, that was certain, but a small part of him was on edge even in such a location. He was tempted to start up an argument with Roman over staying in the area for Roman to bathe, but after such a harrowing ordeal Logan conceded defeat and ripped the cloak from his shoulders. After draping the cloak on the bank to dry and removing his shirt, Logan turned his gaze back to his captor, Roman seemed to be moving a little further downstream with every step, dipping under the water and resurfacing every few feet only to take a few steps back and change course in the opposite direction. At this Logan nodded, turned his back and stripped himself of the remained of his clothing, laying out his pants to dry before entering the water once more. He was quick to make his way to the waterfall, choosing to entertain the thought of swimming around it, or rather walk around it as he dipped his head and face under the water and shivered upon resurfacing, cool droplets running over his skin as he scrubbed it through his dirtied hair. 

Roman, on the other hand, was finishing up his bathing routine. He turned around and caught sight of the prince taking full advantage of the waterfall, smiling softly at the sight of the prince so unwound from his stress. Trudging to the shore he took stock of his clothing and weapons before taking a seat in a sunny spot on the bank where he could dry himself and make sure the prince stayed safe. He chanced a glance at the prince’s clothing and felt the smile on his face tug a little at the sight of his cloak drying near the prince’s clothing, then it faltered as he caught sight of the prince’s other clothes including his pants. He’d no idea if the prince wore other garments or if he were like Roman and wore none, but Roman would rather not find out in light that Logan was royalty and could have him killed for searching out such things. However, Roman took into account Logan was seemingly done with bathing and as Logan looked around, searching the river for the sellsword, Roman took a pebbled from the bank and hefted it into the water beside Logan, creating a small splash and causing Logan to look back at him. He gave the prince a small smile and turned his face to the sky, closing his eyes and reclining on the pebbles below. The sound of splashing made him think back to his earlier query, but he refused his curiosity what it so wanted to know, keeping his eyes closed until his body had dried of water. 

Once Roman had tugged his shirt back on, settled all his weapons and pulled on his boots, he turned to Logan. The prince was standing on the shore as the river lapped at his feet, light catching the drops of water still clinging defiantly to his hair as the cloak draped around his shoulders and body seemed much too big for him, even if he were only a foot or so shy of Roman’s height. At that moment all seemed so tranquil, it was easy to forget they had a goal to accomplish. But in saying that, or rather thinking it, Roman realised he had no clue where they were or how to get to Anwir’s castle from this waterfall and river. Sure, most rivers ended at an ocean, but that was the thing. If this river led them to an ocean it would either take them past where they needed to be, too far out for them to properly survive, or it would take them back to King Duhn’s castle, seeing as his kingdom was situated along the ocean and while reaching civilisation may be a good thing, reaching civilisation in King Duhn’s castle would not be a good thing. Roman looked around a little, hoping something would mark their way as the sun was overhead now and it was hard to tell where the east and west were. They could stop and wait, but the longer they waited the closer the warriors would be, they couldn’t afford to wait for too long, but the sun was their only guide. 

Their best hope was to head away from the river though, more than likely the warriors would find the waterfall and even if they weren’t looking for the pair, they’d stop for water and a break. No, their best course of action would be to enter the forest and find somewhere to wait out a few hours until Roman could tell where east and west were. 

Roman stood, dusting himself off and wincing at the cold and wet feeling that surrounded his legs before heading over to Logan. The prince flinched at the hand Roman placed on his shoulder but didn’t show any other signs of fright. In the quiet, it was well understood neither would speak a word, so with a tilt of his head and a step towards the forest Roman led the prince from the water’s edge and into the woods once more. 

The trees overhead let through enough sunlight that the small shrubs could gather into masses of twisting green leaves and short dark trunks. There were many Logan didn’t know the names of, some he’d seen in books his father had allowed him to study and keep in his cell, but still many remained a mystery to him as he followed the sellsword into the wooded area further. He supposed Roman knew where he was headed, or at the very least had a plan in mind for what next to do. If they were lost it would be a simple matter of finding the east and the west of the world via the sun, but with the way the trees shadows dropped straight down below them Logan supposed the sun had reached its highest peak in the sky and it would be hard to tell where the sun had come from and where it was headed. But he followed Roman regardless, best not to get into an argument over where they were headed when even after bathing and reclining on the rocky shore, glistening with drying water and covered in all his battle wounds, Roman still seemed on edge and even the smallest question would likely set him off. 

Roman stopped at the top of a small hill, looking down into the bowl of the valley where hills around it created a lip and the bottom smoothed out into flat vale only dotted with a single tree. The vale was large, far larger than even the river and accompanying pebble dotted banks, so large it seemed as if it could have supported a small village, though the only downside would have been the height of the hills surrounding the vale. It was not the sort of place he usually made camp, the hills would impede his sight, but for their purposes, it would be a good place to rest where the hills could keep them hidden from sight. So, ignoring his screaming instincts, warning him against stepping into the valley, Roman walked down and into it, turning his back on the vale in favour of looking up at the prince who still waited at the top of the hill, hesitantly looking around as if something would jump out at him. Roman took a step back, opening his mouth to tell the prince he was safe before he looked down at something metal he’d stepped on. A second later his head was spinning, the world was upside down and Logan was racing down the hill towards him. 

Roman let out a soft, strangled grunt as he looked up to see his ankles encased in rope, his body dangling from a tree branch high enough that even at his height his head didn’t touch the ground. There was a rustling that Roman picked up, not Logan’s pounding feet as he raced towards Roman, slowing and inspecting the ground for any other traps before bending down to inspect what Roman had stepped on, a single gold coin glittered in the sunlight but Logan pocketed it in favour of helping Roman. 

“Stay still”, Logan muttered as Roman twisted to reach for his knife, the sudden blood rush to his head made him dizzy however and the knife dropped to the ground as Logan grabbed his dangling arms and tried to still him, “I’ll get you down.”

“Might want to hurry up on that front, princess”, Roman grunted, looking up at his ankles before turning his head to where he’d heard the rustling sound before. Something black dipped behind a large set of bushes, Roman’s heart rate accelerating as he turned his eyes back to Logan who was picking up his knife to cut the rope. Roman had two options, or two at that moment his mind could think of, tell Logan to run and find out what that black thing was by himself or let Logan cut him free while Logan found out what it was. Either way, there was a heavy chance one of them or both of them would get killed, but while Roman had been thinking of what to do the bushes rustled and something charged out into the open, startling Logan enough to drop the knife and land back on the ground. The creature seemed to be sitting atop a horse, rearing the horse up just a few inches from Logan and stopping it so the beast’s chest was facing Logan’s. 

The creature atop the horse bent down, a cloak made of black feathers obscuring its face from sight before it spoke in a gravelly voice, “who are you?”

Logan seemed to regain his senses for a mere moment, able to stutter out, “P-prince Logan D-duhn.”

“A prince, eh? What’re you doing in my forest?”, the creature snarled, voice gaining a sharp edge to it that made Logan shiver. Roman twisted above, a few inches short of being able to swing and grab the horse’s tail, though he valiantly tried to. 

“We’re going to Anwir’s castle”, Logan said, voice softening into a whisper as the horse’s foreleg to his left stamped gently, lifting and relocking on the dirt. The grey sock of the horse’s leg had tiny patches of white, a little dirt and mud splashed on it and Logan tried to keep his gaze on the leg rather than on the creature riding the horse above him.

“Anwir you say”, the creature murmured before the horse's leg raised again and stamped hard into the dirt, showering Logan’s arm with flecks of brown, “I say you lie. Trespassers are not welcome in my forest.”

“I’m not lying”, Logan said, finding an ounce of courage in him and sitting up straight to which the horse backed off, legs finding hold on the dirt near his feet before Logan remembered the dagger he had, lifting it to use it before the horse whipped around with a yelp of pain and a cry of outrage. Logan was left behind the horse as the creature atop it wheeled it to Roman who just smirked tiredly and looked past the horse and rider at Logan, mouthing ‘run’ before turning his attention back to the horse and rider. 

The rider reached a hand out from beneath the cloak, dark skin meeting Roman’s scarred face and tangling in his hair, “you I will deal with in time. For now”, the rider turned to Logan once more, looking down at him and the measly dagger he held in one hand, “I deal with your supposed prince.”

The next few seconds made Roman’s heart seize, stilling as the rider and horse turned to Logan and charged, Logan holding the dagger and his ground in complete fear while he was helpless to save him. Just before the rider and horse could barrel Logan over they reared up, the rider looking down as the horse balanced on two legs and Logan closed his eyes with the dagger in front of him, trembling in his hands. The cloak's hood fell from the rider’s head and the rest whipped up with the wind as the rider was revealed in all his glory. 

Logan opened his eyes, turning his head to take in the centaur before him; black hair mussed and short, scars covering thickly corded muscle and umber skin that descended into thin white hairs and grey socks of the horse body, black tail swaying gently behind the creature as it slowed and looked down at Logan with a hint of a smile, “you stay your ground?”

Logan didn’t have any words to say to this, merely looking at the supposed mythical creature with awe and wonder. The centaur snorted, running a hand through its hair and looking back at Logan before turning to look at Roman over its shoulder, “and you? You tell him to run for his life?”

Neither had anything to say to that, but Logan took a hold of his mind far quicker than Roman, dropping the dagger to his side and standing to look at the full centaur before him. The beast stood well over seven-foot, roughly seventeen-hands-high plus the extra human height on top of that, but all of it was lean yet muscular in a way that it seemed built for war and fast speeds on the battlefield. Without all the scars crisscrossing its broad body, the creature may have been less noticeable for its possible warrior status but seeing them made Logan’s heart race more than it already was. He wouldn’t be able to topple such a gigantic beast, but he could try to evade capture, however from the way the creature spoke it seemed amused by him. So Logan stood his ground and found his eyes peering up into ones just as dark as his own but surrounded by cracking white paint, possibly some sort of symbol of warrior status once again.

“Do you have a name?”, Logan asked, voice a little soft but the centaur seemed to hear him perfectly, head cocking to the side in interest as a flash of something akin to wonder crossed through its eyes.

“I do, but I will not tell it to you”, the creature said, voice even yet soft as if talking to someone of equal strength which Logan certainly wasn’t.  
Instead of trying to pry more Logan slid the dagger into the side of his pants and laced them tighter, hoping it would stay put as he stepped towards the creature who took a step back in return, somehow seeming frightened of Logan and his burst of confidence, “can you at least let him down?”

“I could, but I will not. He is greedy. All who are greedy shall be punished as I see fit”, the creature said, and Logan frowned at its words.

Logan looked at the sellsword, tilting his head a little and looking back at the centaur, “greedy? Roman is no such thing.”

“He fell into the trap I set for the greedy of these woods. Just like the goblins that steal and the fae folk who wander in search of treasure, he will be brought to justice by my hand.”

“And why do you get to decide his fate? We stumbled into this vale hoping for somewhere to rest”, Logan began his speech, moving in on the centaur who continued to step back in shock, “we have been through the Grim Forest, almost killed by a troll and a giant spider, almost killed by fire and other warriors, been on the run since dawn, fallen from the top of a waterfall, almost drowned, and do not get me started on everything else that happened while we were apart and I had to escape a tower trying to flee from my own father.”

The centaur at this point had slowly been backed into a tree, flank bumping against it gently as Logan kept advancing, listing off everything that had gone wrong in his life since he’d begun the journey with Roman to Anwir’s castle, meanwhile Roman kept his gaze firmly fixed on the prince that, only a few hours ago, had been sniffling and crying his eyes out about the deaths of his friends in the tree village. Logan finally stopped his tirade, glaring up into the centaur’s eyes, “so now, you tell me why you can’t let him down because from where I’m standing it seems as if you owe both of us an apology along with getting him down and since this vale is filled with traps as it seems and this is as you put it ‘your forest’, I believe you should find us somewhere to rest since you’re the one who made it unsafe for us to be here in the first place.”

“Alright, alright”, the centaur said, hands up to stop Logan from advancing further, “alight, look if you stop bombarding me with all this information, I can take you somewhere to settle for the night. But please, for the love of the fae please stop speaking and yelling at me.”

“I wasn’t yelling”, Logan said, still glaring up at the centaur who quickly seemed to backpedal in a second.

“No, no, of course, you weren’t”, the centaur rushed out, all finesse and anger fading quickly as it seemed to lose steam and fight in the face of the prince. Roman continued to stare at Logan even as the centaur advanced on him, cutting the ropes and dropping him to the ground with a thud and a few places Roman knew would have bruises in the morning. He muttered out a thank you, but the centaur seemed much more focused on Logan, who still continued to glare at the creature. It seemed all too eager to usher them out of the vale and only stopped when Roman doubled over in pain, his shoulder wound from the Arania wound that in the midst of all that had happened had not opened up until recently, the pain catching up to him as blood began to flow from what once had been healed. He was thankful that it hadn’t opened before while they were running, but now wasn’t a good time either and to top it off the three stilled to sounds of shouting coming from the river not far from their location.

The centaur turned to them, looking from the top of the hill to where Logan had rushed to Roman’s side and was holding him up, seeming to decide something in the heat of the moment. With a groan of what they assumed was anger the centaur wound its way up the hill and urged them to follow, directing them to a large cavern a few feet from the hill they’d passed over the top of. The cavern was quick to become a gorge, the three travelling along it as light streamed from above, green vines dangling like rope through the large crack in the ground above. After a few minutes, the gorge closed over into a cavern once more, light peeking through a thick curtain of vines at the end. The centaur moved forward, turning back to them with a sigh and opening the curtain up for them, “welcome to The Sanctuary.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan and Roman enter The Sanctuary, meet a new face and Logan tells a centaur and a faun about his past under the thumb of his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely not my best work. Who can do 4000 words in a day? This masochist, that's who. Seriously though, most of this is poorly written dialogue because I finished this at 3 a.m., but I'm sleeping in tomorrow. 
> 
> Anyway, Virgil and Patton are being introduced in this chapter. Later on in the chapter where things kinda fall apart, but still, we wheedled them in there at last :) 
> 
> The spelling and grammar may be atrocious, the deadline I set myself may have been a little harsh, but all in all we got it done and I am proud of us. Go team...or really me. Yeah, a little self-indulgent optimism because I feel a wee bit tired.
> 
> Hope you enjoy the new chapter and I'm sorry it's kind of a mess <3

The Sanctuary was beautiful. Tall trees with thin leaves covered flat ground while roots exposed themselves in arches of brown and green, emerald moss covering and dropping down like droplets of water waiting to fall. The world seemed to glisten in the light of the sun, every plant and tree fresh and alive in the space they’d just entered. Their centaur guide trampled ahead, small ferns curling away from his hooves as he walked a known path through the trees into a tiny glade. The hum of insect wings flittering about permeated the cold air while the soft chirping of bird and animal alike were drowned out back in the world before The Sanctuary. Trees seemed to talk to the wind, the gentle rustles akin to teasing as the invisible spirits of the chilly air taunted their held down counterparts with their own kind of playful cheer. Through it all the air remained abuzz with the energy of a forest not used to seeing humans, a forest that hadn’t been disturbed or set foot in for over a millennium. The Sanctuary seemed sentient, alive with magic and secrets very few were allowed to be told and even less allowed to share with outsiders. 

Their centaur guide walked on, not looking back to check on them as he wound through the patches of low bushes, around the small clusters of toadstools, over the various raised roots and on into a small area with less dense foliage. Meanwhile, Logan and Roman stopped to take it all in, noticing the animals along with the flora for while all around them shone with a fae glow, the animals seemed less glorious than their flora equals. All were a dull white like bleached sand or chilled marble, their backs covered in moss and miniature flowers as if they carried entire forests with them wherever they went. From rabbits with perked ears to slow-moving snails, all seemed at peace where they were and watched with curious eyes while undisturbed by the presence of the humans. 

“You lag behind. Hurry”, the rough voice of their centaur guide chided, gentle yet gruff in the way sand was both beautiful to look at and stand in, but a hazard to run on or fall against. The pair quickly diverted their attention back to the creature, moving past the curious ferns that tickled their ankles and the odd small creature or two that hopped towards them in wonder and awe at their mere presence. 

Roman grunted gently when Logan stumbled, one larger fern tripping him and sending the duo flailing a little before the prince was able to right them and continue on. His apology was met with silence on the sellsword’s side, but he attempted to make conversation with their guide, “this Sanctuary you have brought us to. What is it a Sanctuary for?”

Their guide turned slowly, hooves gently kicking up dirt, leaves and moss as his dark eyes focused on Logan with a mixture of amusement and uncertainty, seeming to silently debate whether to share the information he withheld from them. He seemed to resign to telling them a minute later when Logan and Roman were more or less right in front of him, Roman’s shoulder close to brushing up against his human torso, “The Sanctuary is the last portion of the Faerie Forest left. What lives here is the remaining few not killed by humans.”

“It is beautiful”, Logan said, an attempt to keep the conversation light and not intrusive. This centaur was in his natural climate, his element, should they offend him or his forest they most certainly would die.

“That it is”, the centaur said, breath rushing in and out in a soft sigh as he looked around, head swivelling to look at the forest around him while seeming to forget he was here with guests. His right foreleg cocked, knee bent gently as the tip of the hoof rested in the soft soil it had dug from beneath the layers of moss and decaying leaves before. His eyes seemed to catch on what lay beyond a set of high bushes and mossy, jagged rocks, craning his neck to look past what was shielded from sight. In a few short steps their ebony haired guide stood just behind one, brushing his fingers over the somewhat rough and somewhat mossy surface, eyes trained on the thin line where green met grey. 

Logan stepped forward, trying to keep in pace with the new stumbling walk Roman seemed to have adopted. Once both were up against the rocks and bushes, Logan released his grip on the sellsword gently and lay his back against the mass of stone before turning to their centaur, “can you help dull the pain?”

The half man turned his gaze to them at his words, eyes roaming the flush of exertion on Logan’s face and the twists of pain that marred Roman’s. With a look back at his hand, still perched on the rock before him before he pressed against it and then allowed his hand to depart, coming to rest by his hip as he turned his gaze to the human duo. “I can do one better, but you must promise you will not reveal anything you see to another.”

“We can agree to that, sir centaur”, Logan said, brushing a hand over the somewhat sweat matted locks that swamped Roman’s forehead, gingerly tidying them to the best of his ability whilst the centaur’s grimace at the title and name went unnoticed. 

What did not go unnoticed though was the stamp of the centaur’s hoof against the ground below, black striking up and disturbing a few dead leaves in its wake. The man snorted, head turned, and arms crossed over his broad chest, “I am no sir.”

“I did not mean to cause offence, si-…centaur”, Logan attempted, voice a little unsteady as he gazed up into the face of the creature that would most likely kill them if not placated quickly enough. However, the centaur seemed to stiffen a little at his words, turning his head away to sigh before dropping the tension in his body completely and turning to look at the hedges and rocks once more.

“My name will come to you in time, for now, I ask of you but one favour”, the centaur turned back to Logan, eyes looking over him with a certain uneasiness Logan had not encountered before, some sort of emotion he could not describe, “what you will see once we enter may shock you, perhaps even turn your stomach, so I beg of you not to cause a ruckus at what you see.”

Logan shivered and looked back at his companion, Roman seemed even less well than he had previously, eyes slowly turning sunken, face a sullen tree bark white and his breathing close to a dog’s pants. Eyes redirecting to their guide, Logan nodded once and looked back at Roman before going to take his arm. The jolt of that arm receding quickly from his reach startled him enough to send him reeling a few steps backwards, tripping over a rock behind him and falling to the ground where his back hit the dirt, head whirling as he tried to shake off the pain and dizziness. 

“Look, I know I shouldn’t be too picky with who helps me with what, but you’re a centaur”, Roman said, voice a little harsh as his eyes zeroed in on their guide, “can’t you carry me instead of prince boy over there?”

“Carry you”, the centaur whispered, eyes quickly filling with rage before he rose onto two legs and stamped down hard on the ground, rage-filled ebony pools darkening more than was natural as he looked at Roman and screamed out, “carry you?”

“Roman, allow me to help”, Logan spoke up, his attempt to calm the quickly escalating situation going awry as Roman fought back against their guide.

“Yes, carry me. You have two extra legs and you know where you are going. You’re strong enough and capable enough to help me, yet you refuse”, Roman cried out, voice rising as he glared the centaur down.

The creature let out a fury-filled screech, “you listen to me, you self-centred human. I am a noble creature, unlike the humans, you so thoughtlessly ‘knighted’ and call ‘sir’. I am a warrior, a blue-blooded man of the Faerie Forest, yet you have the audacity to ask for more after I gave you shelter in the safest place in the entire of the nine realms”, the centaur stiffened, trotting over and leaning down to whisper his threat to Roman, “if you were not bleeding out, I would kill you where you stand.”

The sellsword didn’t shiver or move, but Logan did. He shouldered Roman’s other arm and walked past their guide, who watched the pair with hate and disdain. Logan focused on other things as he neared the hedge their guide had been at not moments before; things like what lay beyond the hedge that the centaur was so worried about. Perhaps it was a bloodbath, bodies strewn across the field like snowflakes in winter, or it could be even more gruesome than Logan could imagine; human remains, decapitated bodies of the centaur’s victims, blood painting the trees and rocks. What horrors could await him that would unnerve such a creature as their centaur guide?

Logan steeled his nerves and pushed the bush out of the way, quickly dashing through into a patch of sunlight as the hedge’s hole closed behind him and remained that way before their centaur guide followed them through. What Logan had been expecting and what he was seeing were, to put it lightly, complete opposites. The area they’d walked into was a glade-like the last but even more stunning than the previous area. This glade dipped a little, small bumps here and there while a large part of it was without trees to cover it, the sky above clear as river water. The trees that remained in the glade were of the same variety as the ones before; some with brown trunks, others white with a few stripes of grey, but all tall and reaching for the sun above. In the distance, behind a few trees, Logan could see a lake glistening like an ethereal gem and a great tree sprouting from one side where the water met earth. The lake seemed shallow, a few mossy rocks dotting the pristine water like stepping stones. Some animals were still able to be seen, a few rabbits and squirrels still sprinting around looking for their next feed, but what wrangled Logan’s attention away from the new glade was the soft buzz of something entirely new to him. 

Fae. Tiny winged creatures that moved through the air like hummingbirds, faster than Logan could really see but occasionally he’d hear the soft laughter of the tiny humanoids and spot a few perched on rocks or trees before they rushed off into the wind once more. Along with these tiny creatures the soft notes of a flute were whispered to the prince, silver and silken, they poured from an unseeable source whilst Logan looked around the paradise that truly earned the name ‘The Sanctuary’. Everything in the glade had its place, everything had a reason for being there, everything had a purpose. And Logan adored every inch of it. From the trees to the thin tendrils of soft grass that tickled his bare feet, Logan adored everything about The Sanctuary. 

But a grunt brought reality crashing back down to him again and he heaved Roman onto a rock in the sun, intent on allowing their centaur guide to take care of the problems at hand. But looking back at their centaur guide, the man stood still, watching the pair with arms crossed. Roman groaned softly and Logan turned to their centaur for help, receiving none.

“You said you could help him”, Logan whispered, voice a little strangled as he looked at the centaur pleadingly. The centaur merely turned his head away, eyes focused on a pair of squirrels and lips twitching a little as if something had greatly hardened his heart. “Please, you said you would.”

“Saying something and promising it are two different things. I did indeed say I would help, but I did not promise to, therefore no oath was created, and I am free of dishonour”, the centaur said, face turned to the heavens above before something collided with his front legs and he was sent stumbling back.

“Now you listen to me”, Logan growled, looking up at the centaur from where he’d run into the creature’s legs, “he is dying and if you think that his death will not be on your head, you will be sorely mistaken. Oath or not, promise or not, you said you would help him, and you will or so help me…”

Feeling the challenge in his words the centaur rose to it, bending down and looking at the top of Logan’s head while the prince’s face looked at the dirt and his feet, “so help you, what?”

A sniffle greeted him. The centaur startled back, hooves slipping on mossy rocks as Logan looked up at him, tears softly streaking down his face which still held anger, but it vanished in a second as everything caught up to him at once and he began to cry. Heavy sobbing filled the small glade, animals wandering out of their shelter in the trees to watch while the fae folk dropped to branches with sympathy clear on their faces. The centaur looked around, eyes catching the small pearls of colour each fae held as disgust and anger was hurled at him, for who could be so cruel as to make another cry?

The centaur was on his feet in a second, trying to hush the human but only making it worse as his attempts at comfort were even worse than Roman’s, no matter how impossible it may seem. The sound of hooves on dirt drew the centaur’s attention away from the crying human and towards the grove of trees to his far left, a white cloak emerging from the bushes as short black horns peeked from beneath the feathers. At this sight the centaur stilled; unsure whether to be afraid of the repercussions of his actions or if he should thank the gods above that someone who knew humans better than he did had arrived at last. 

The cloaked figure started forward, approaching Logan with slow and careful steps, black fur rustling gently beneath the white feathers. When it had neared Logan, it took his hands away from his face and kissed the back of each individually, “my child, what is the reason for your sorrow?”

Logan stilled, not sure if he should trust the figure, a near two heads taller than he and draped in a white feather cloak. If it were with the centaur, most likely it would side with him, but his own sadness rose to the forefront again and he spoke out, “my friend is dying.”

“Your friend?”, the figure asked, and Logan turned his head a little to motion to Roman, pale against the grey and green of the rock and moss, slowly adorning it with his own blood. “I see”, the figure spoke, turning to look back at the centaur who cowered from its unseen gaze, “my friend said he would fix him, and he has not, I will, therefore, fix your friend for you.”

“You will?”, Logan asked, dreading the laugh he knew would come, surely the figure had to be joking about such things.

“I will”, the words were as sturdy as a castle made of the toughest stone and only a twinge of sharpness cut through the rabbit fur softness that the figure spoke to him with. Logan’s hands were released and not a second later the figure was leaning over Roman, a pale hand running over his shirt and tanned flesh, searching for the problem that caused him such tremendous pain. It found the problem a second later and from its cloak produced a few berries, crushed between its hands and them lavished onto the wound that sparkled red with blood and raw skin. The screech of pain was met with a hand to his mouth, Roman’s world going white and fading to black as the pain finally wore on him. 

The figure stood, turning to Logan before looking up at the centaur who backed away a little and ducked his head in shame. “I will reapply the berries in a few hours until the wound is free from infection. It will take longer to heal and so I offer you our company for the time being.”

“Our?”, the centaur sounded frightened and lost but was silenced by the figure turning to him, “right, our. Yes, both of us.”

“Thank you”, Logan mumbled, tears springing anew, “thank you for saving him.”

The figure dipped its head, bowing and showing off the cloven hooves and black fur that lay underneath the white feather cloak, “you are most welcome. After all, you did come to us on good faith and I believe in rewarding those of us who have the decency to hold up bargains and oaths made.”

“We did not form an oath”, the centaur squawked, voice a little higher in pitch than before causing Logan looked back in both amazement and wonder. 

“Of course, you did not. Because oaths are always spoken verbally and never with the heart”, the figure said, sarcasm heavy as Logan looked between the pair, the centaur seeming guilty over the obvious hurt he had caused the other creature. The pair continued to look at each other, Logan could tell both were silently fuming at whatever had been said and implied, but the tension was proving a little much for him.

“Pardon my intrusion but would either of you know of somewhere I may settle down for the night and gather my strength?”, Logan asked, attempting to remain polite and civil throughout his question, should anything blunter anger the pair. 

The figure seemed to loosen their stance, glancing towards Logan before stepping back and rushing forward to wrangle the human into a tight hug, “of course, but please eat something first, you are a guest after all.”

Logan was ushered away from Roman and to a small clearing where trees shadowed the forest floor from the light of the sun while still remaining a rough but even distance from the centre, rather like a large circle had been carved out of the forest. The figure, seemingly very accommodating where the centaur had been against such things, moved for Logan to take a seat in the centre of the clearing, scurrying off to gather sticks while the soft thuds of hoof beats rung in Logan’s ears. Their centaur guide entered the clearing, practically dragging Roman as he was held by his wrist from one hand, his other arm laying across the centaur’s back as he walked the sellsword through the paces in his own way, though it was a commonly known fact by then that the sellsword was as unresponsive as a stone in water and completely unconscious. Roman was dropped, rather unceremoniously, beside Logan while the centaur knelt, hooves resting beside him as he looked around the clearing with a glare. 

With the coming of dusk, the figure returned, carrying a small pile of wood and sticks to kindle a fire with, and began to get to work not seconds after dropping the lumber into a pile as they produced a crystal from their cloak. The small orange and red gem glowed, cut similar to a teardrop with a rounded bottom and peaking tip, it caught the light of the sun for a moment before it began to glow more, radiating a lovely shade of orange like a flame in a lamp that flickered in the cold halls of Logan’s home. Once the crystal had seemingly reached the brightest it could be the figure lowered it under the small pile of twigs it’d collected and at once the crystal dimmed, the sticks bursting into flame just as the figure drew away from them. The soft crackle was helped by the addition of a few larger pieces, but still the fire burned at a peaceful distance, the world becoming colder and darker yet as Logan looked around, he realised a few small glowing lights drifting about the wooded area. Looking at them closely he recognised them as fae folk, slowly swaying with tiredness as they ventured to their homes deeper in the forest. It was a lovely sight with the perfect amount of ambience for what the world could throw at them at that point.

With the introduction of the fire and the now sleeping creatures, Logan turned to their guide, the centaur looking above with his hands rested on the ends of his feather cloak, playing with it gently as he stared at the stars. Seeing him so peaceful gave Logan some sort of confidence and he spoke, “thank you for bringing us here, centaur.”

“Centaur?”, the figure asked, pausing to look between the now flushing centaur and the human duo, “you call him what you see him as, yet not by his name?”

“He did not”, Logan paused, biting his lip gently before lifting his eyes to look at the centaur, “he did not gift us with one.”

“You brought them here without telling them your name. For shame”, the figure berated softly, moving in closer to the centaur who merely grumbled and looked at the ground, “I believe we should remedy that.”

“Believe what you like, I am not giving either human my name”, the centaur stated with a little more malice than he probably intended to. The figure stood and walked over to where the human head was looking back at him, glaring gently from under his white war paint before wincing as the figure reached out a hand and lightly smacked the back of his head.

“How rude. I believe I have taught you better than this”, the figure said, sighing and sitting down beside the centaur, blocking him from the fire and slowly removing the cloak. What lay underneath nearly took Logan’s breath away; a man with white hair, a bare pale chest, brown eyes, and black goat legs looked back at him. He adjusted his silver spectacles gently before smiling at Logan. “I am Patton. The last of my kind, a faun, and over three hundred years old. The centaur beside me is…”

“Do not dare speak my name.”

“Virgil. He may act like a warrior, but underneath all those scars and that war paint is a heart full of love and kindness”, the faun – Patton – said, Logan had to do a small double take, learning all these new names in such a short span of time made his head reel a little. 

However, he nodded and began the usual route of exchanging formalities, “I am Prince Logan Duhn, crown prince to the Duhn kingdom.”

“Logan. Oh, now what a most sensible name that is. So regal sounding”, Patton said, smiling widely as Logan took in more of his features. Upon further inspection of the bridge of Patton’s nose was dotted with miniscule freckles, hard to make out under the pair of silver spectacles he wore, though his forearms seemed to be splattered with the same speckles as his nose and cheeks. Logan could also make out a small smattering of white dots within the black fur, rather like the spots of a newborn deer. 

“Thank you”, the prince mumbled, blinking himself out of his trance and looking back up at the somewhat odd pair. 

Patton looked over at Virgil who had slumped his upper body against a small rock, reclining with a sour look on his face, choosing to change the topic at hand before the centaur left him alone with the two humans, “so, your highness, what brings you this far into the forests?”

“Please, Logan will do, but I must say the answer to your question is quite the long story”, Logan warned, looking Patton in the eye before glancing over at Virgil, who to the prince’s untrained eye seemed bored and grumpy, yet to Patton’s knowing eye was actually interested in hearing the prince’s story, no matter how bored he may appear.

“Tell us please, your-…Logan. Tell us please, Logan”, Patton stopped to correct himself, smiling at the prince before discreetly kicking Virgil’s hoof with his own at the muffled laugh. To anyone else, the laugh would have been over Patton’s fumbled words, but to Patton, who knew the truth, Virgil’s laughter was over the fact that Patton believed Logan was a real prince, the centaur not believing for a second that Logan was indeed the son of a king. 

Logan took a breath, released it slowly and then began to tell his story, “my father kept me locked up for years. When I was in my ninth summer the person I adored above all else was taken from me, before he was taken he gave me a ring that I keep on a string around my neck”, at this Logan pulled the ring and string out of his shirt, displaying the warmed iron band for the two to look at as the firelight grazed it with an otherworldly orange tint, “to start from the beginning would be rather hard to do, but I will aim to do my best without causing confusion.

“My childhood was fairly normal and practically the same as any other prince. I spent many days in the courtyard garden with my most trusted friend in the world. Our time was well disbursed between apple eating, running about and playing make-believe, along with the occasional nap or time where he would tell me stories beneath the apple tree, whisking me away on journeys to places where everything was made of sand and castles rose from dunes with towers of glass. He was imaginative and kind, a little dull but the only person in the world I could never live without. He gave me the ring he made himself and I wore it on my finger every day, though it was much too big for my tiny hands.

“Then came the day he was sent away. I do not remember everything quite so clearly, but it was certainly due to my father. I am sure he wished for me to be a proper prince, someone who the throne would be proud of, and yet all he did was inspire my first of many dark feelings towards him. From that day the world seemed to plunge into never-ending darkness, my mother fell prey to illness and died not a year later, the kingdom was demolished time and time again by our enemies and my father locked me in a high tower room with no contact with other people. I only saw my father for years upon years, until even that became a rarity and just when I had given up hope a suit of armour walks into my dingy cell with offers of food. I took it, hungry and starving as I was, and hoped the suit held within its confines a person that was not my father. Alas, upon looking within the suit I learned my father had mastered the art of dark magic, harnessing a spell and sigil that would allow him to puppeteer the armour in our castle without the need for any human life. 

“I do not know how he survived without anyone but myself, all villagers and residents were driven away as each night grew colder and darker than that previous. My only real hope was the many memories I had of my friend, the one person I knew in my heart may still have some level of love for me, unlike my father. I was locked up for years on end after I found out about the armour and since then it escalated; from one suit to thirty to one hundred and the number of total phantom guards under my father’s control steadily rises with each new year. Winter was spent huddled in the corner with only the birds and the sound of the sea for company, books were a limited resource my father allowed only as a treat come the day of my birth, and the food was forever the same thing. 

“I was given freedom but a few days ago, though to my dismay my father sent Roman after me in hopes he would bring me back. I entered the Grim Forest, then the Bewitched and finally we made it to the Faerie, but that journey, though only a few days, has been much more arduous than any trial I have faced thus far. In the Grim, I encountered visions that turned my stomach, on the way out I encountered a troll I outsmarted before Roman forced us to run. I tried to run form him but was caught by an Arania, from there we were able to find shelter in a village in the trees surrounded by a lake that glowed of a night to signify the danger of its waters. That village was burned to the ground by more warriors sent after me, and I watched many people I had come to care about die. Roman helped me escape and we were on the run just this morning, we took a dive over a waterfall and then met Virgil before he brought us here.

“And that is my life story thus far”, Logan concluded, looking up from the ground and into the sorrowful eyes of the centaur and faun. Patton’s hands were clasped to his chest, Virgil sitting upright with downcast eyes. 

“That is quite the tale, young prince”, Patton murmured, voice rough from unshed tears as he looked away from Logan. 

The night sky above was by this point heavily populated by stars and Logan began to count, wishing to draw his mind away from the past he wished to leave behind, “I suppose it is.”

“Logan”, the prince turned his eyes to the centaur, orange light flickering and casting light on the once ebony eyes, now the colour of the bark behind him, “you said you were on your way to a castle in search of protection, I gather.”

“I am. We journey to Anwir’s castle. In his home I will find comfort and safety at last”, Logan let a small smile tease the corner of his lip. 

Virgil huffed, looking away with arms folded once more. He closed his eyes before returning his gaze to Logan, “I will accompany you.”

Silence rang through the thick air, both faun and human too shocked to speak as the centaur looked away once more, awaiting his answer of declining or accepting his help with travel. It was a heartbeat or two later that the faun spoke, “I will come as well.”

“You most certainly will not”, the centaur hissed out, teeth grit tightly together as his angered gaze narrowed on the faun. Patton glared right back before closing his eyes and waving a hand dismissively between his face and Virgil’s.

“I will. Roman will need my expertise in medicine and I am finding it hard to trust you will keep your word to the young prince after what happened just this noon”, Patton said, somewhat chipper demeanour chipped with sourness as he looked from Virgil to Logan, changing his sour frown to a smile as if to seem like all was fine between the two creatures. Virgil seemed about to say no once more, intent on defending his side of the argument, however, Patton silenced him with a look, inclining his head to the pair of humans. Logan having lain down beside Roman, cloak thrown over them as he faced the fire and blinked drowsily. He’d not slept well in quite some time and a good nights rest would be extremely well received. 

Patton lay down next to Virgil, craning his head to the side in order to keep an eye on the now sleeping prince and undisturbed sellsword. He was reminded to change the berries by Virgil, a soft kick to his leg ordering him to get up and change the poultice of berries before he slept. The faun did as he was told, changing the berries out with only a minor groan of pain before he returned to the centaur’s side and lay down, cuddling into the feather cloak as the night finally took all four and dragged them into slumber.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is welcomed by the Faerie Forest, but a battle forces him to run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one's long to make up for the fact that the next one will be a little short.
> 
> Also, the next one is complete and will most likely be up by Friday (or Saturday) at the latest, but from there expect nothing new until the next Friday, or probably the next Saturday for some of you. This chapter doesn't have a lot of gore, but it does have some animal gore in it briefly close to the end, so that might be a spot to miss if you aren't fond of such things. Apart from that most of this chapter is spelling and grammar errors with some pretty imagery thrown in.
> 
> Regardless, it is done, I will have the next chapter up by the end of the week and I hope you enjoy the story <3

Logan woke to the light of the dawning sun, white and blazing yet only just warm enough to rid him of the icy feeling of the cold from the night previous. The world around him was crisp and fresh, covered in a light sprinkle of dew and sparkling like a thousand scattered gems. His body was a tad numb, still partially asleep but his hunger had grown from the night before. Patton, though having said he would bring food, had not and while Logan was not one to blame his generous host for their slip of the mind, he was still ravenously hungry, and the feeling was only growing with every second he grew more aware of his surroundings. 

He rolled onto his front, chin planted in dead leaves and musky dirt as he glared across the clearing at the trees on the other side. His stomach growled gently, gurgling like a bubbling brook and stirring a mixture of nausea and lust for food within him. He swallowed, saliva passing down his dry throat and into his gullet which only rumbled more with the addition of something not even close to food. With every part of his body screaming for the nutrients contained in berries and other such edible things, Logan decided it best to roll onto his back, stretch and bend into an upwards sitting position. 

After relieving himself of a large yawn, he looked around the clearing to assess both living components and dead ones. His eyes drifted from the cloak half draped over the sellsword to the large figure of Virgil the centaur and a little way from him Patton the faun along with the trees that surrounded them and dropped pearlescent gems of water from their high leaves and thin branches. The fire had died long ago, black coals only slightly damp looking and from the temperature, Logan knew they would be chilled to the touch. Much of the clearing was unpopulated by the creatures Logan had seen the previous day; no squirrels, no rabbits, no snail, just the quiet hum of the gentle wind. 

Logan closed his eyes and breathed in the fresh breeze that surrounded him, the numb feeling replaced by a light tingling sensation that gradually dispersed with every moment he remained still. He opened his eyes though when he heard it, the sound of tiny bells ringing and the feeling of something light landing on his right foot. When he released the brunette pools from darkness, he saw a tiny figure, not quite two inches tall with iridescent blue wings, akin to a butterfly, and a large green feather held in front of it with tiny hands. The sound of bells seemed to originate from the tiny being and Logan tried to still the urge to shake the fae off his foot as the feather tickled the skin greatly. Slowly a tiny head peeked around the feather, white hair clipped short and uneven as it framed a face as grey as stone with eyes so large, they seemed comical, thin white lashes framing pearls of white and shimmering blue without the black of a pupil to be seen. From the top of the face, the rest of the feather was shed, revealing tiny white lips and two slits where a nose would be on any other human. The lips were brought into a smile, eyes crinkling and wings fluttering gently ad the feather was shed completely onto Logan’s foot for the fae to be seen. The rest of its body was similar to a human’s in many ways; two arms and legs, feet and hands, but the rest of the body was completely flat as if a sculptor had left their creation free of reproductive organs. Without this, and without the pupil or nose of a normal human, the fae seemed so different, so ethereal in nature with wings the size of its body and the appearance of a creature made of twigs. So light and fragile, with the mess of white hair it reminded Logan of a dandelion seed, but larger and with the wings that continued to capture his attention. 

The fae let out a giggle, hands clasping over its mouth to hide the wide grin Logan knew was now hidden, before it took off with those iridescent wings, fluttering through the air and stopping as best it could whilst seemingly beckoning him to follow. It attempted to hover, hands and arms outstretched to Logan as it pulled both in towards its chest, repeating the action multiple times before Logan realised it wanted him to follow and slowly rose from the ground, stumbling a little as his unused legs still tingled from sleeping. He took one step after the other, eventually reaching the tiny fae at the edge of the clearing where it flew a little way ahead and beckoned him onward. Logan continued to follow the fae through the forest, eyes occasionally reading the environment around him as he heard more fae giggling above him in the treetops. They seemed so light and unused to doing much more than flying that Logan was somewhat shocked when dewdrops rained down on top of him, eyes searching the trees above and finding other fae shaking the green branches, thinner than the ones coming directly from the trunk, but still connected to the leaves. Their giggles seemed a little infectious, a second later Logan found himself chuckling along with their bell-like laughter.

Journeying on Logan was adorned with more showers of dew until the small droplets of condensation were littered over his clothing, perched in his hair like so many diamonds. His guide continued to look back and giggle, checking on him as he followed in their wake. The other fae stopped their dew dropping, if only for a moment, fluttering down to watch him as he walked past them, perched on their many bushes, pale grey against emerald green. Logan could hear the sounds of animals following him; rabbits hopping, squirrels running, snakes and tortoises moving slowly in synch with one another as all followed him through the forest. 

His guide stopped at the edge of the forest, fluttering onto a tree branch as it looked from Logan, also stopped at the edge of the forest, to the large pool and tree Logan had seen the previous day. It was a silent invitation that Logan took, walking forward to where the pristine water met mossy rocks and dirt. He slowly rounded the edge of the pool, following the line where wet met dry before stopping and looking up from the edge when he felt something calling to his soul. His eyes met the tree, an open crevice stretching up from the water to where the crown of branches spaced out and split into dark brown veins. The opening was larger at the bottom, tapering off and peaking where the branches drew together to descend into the trunk. 

Though Logan had no idea why the fae decided to guide him to the lake, he could only assume it was for food. The moss was a little damp looking but its emerald colouring was more appealing than anything else. He dropped to his knees, reaching for the moss and stopped, water lapping at the shore gently as it was disturbed by the beats of wings he could barely hear. He turned his attention to the tree once more and felt his body change from a solid to a fluid, bone melting inside his flesh with the inability to do little more than stare. 

A large bird, taller than even Virgil, rested on a large rocky outcropping that jutted form the water and tree alike, eyes the colour of molten lava, a mixture of rubies, citrines and topaz', and feathers sleek, it watched him. Its beak was curved and black, every feather of its body past its gargantuan wings tipped with either a sweet wine red, a fiery orange or a light lemon yellow, the ones on its wings tipped with the metallic gleam of gold. It opened its wings, displaying white feathers, as pure as early morning sun, each tipped with gold as they covered the inner sides of its wings. Logan felt fear at first glance, but after its display, he felt nothing but reverence and capitulation towards the great bird. 

He stood, legs still shaky, and moved towards it, the pull on his soul tugging him through the shallow water to the rocky outcropping, worn edges glazed with a light green moss and the slickness of water. Logan swallowed, eyes stuck on the pair looking down at him from nearly nine feet higher than his own eye level. All fourteen feet of the bird screamed for respect, but Logan knew the bird had other plans. He stepped back into the waters, taking another and stepping onto a rock a little higher than the outcropping and watched, enthralled, as the great bird bent forwards and bowed to him.

_____________

Roman awoke to an intense burning pain covering the skin of his shoulder like a bandage made of fire and molten metal. He didn’t remember too much of his time asleep, nor much of the time spent awake before he had entered The Sanctuary, but as he came to, small slivers of memories began to whisper tales through his mind, reminding him of all that had come to pass. Most of what he remembered was hazy, like smoke was being filtered in front of his mind or as if he were underwater for a good portion of the day before. Most of the dialogue was fuzzy, the pictures even more so, the feelings were the clearest and most felt like shards of glass or sharpened steel blades.

He attempted to sit up, key word being attempt for as soon as his hands were behind him and his back was arched even a little a white-hot pain fluttered from his shoulder down through his skin and made him groan, hands falling behind him as he lay still and waited for the pain to subside. Breathing through it was somewhat useful, long and deep breaths brought in and exhaled with a slight tremor but a general sense of ease. He closed his eyes and brought a leather covered hand up to gently rub his eyes, placing it against his forehead and opening them when he felt a small sense of relief. 

Gritting his teeth, he tried once more to sit up, with more pleasing results for his second try. He sat on the earth, blinking rapidly and gripping the cloak that covered his legs like a vice. Steadying his breathing he took in his surroundings, noting the change from the previous day. Around him trees stood tall, thin green leaves ladening the branches, gently tousled by the wind before they fell back into place amongst one another. From the trees above his eyes wandered to the ground, widening at the sight of the faun curled up just shy a foot of their centaur guide, black fur a little dampened by the dew but a white feather cloak covering their shoulders and torso from view. Roman swallowed, turning his gaze to their guide, still asleep and frowning even as the darkness of the abyss took hold. From them, Roman’s eyes wandered to the fire, burnt out and presumably cold, then to the cloak on his legs and finally a full sweep of the area. He relaxed a little, then tensed as he realised something was missing. The prince was not among his account of his surroundings, and if he was not with Roman or their guide he could be in danger. 

Roman staggered a little, feet finding ground as he leaned heavily against a tree, panting lightly as he looked from side to side in hopes of finding a trail. He stumbled forward, grasping the next tree and searching more frantically, worried he would never be able to find the prince again. He stopped just short of thinking it was for the prince’s safety, surely, he could not care for the man already when they’d barely met. No, he was more interested in the gold the prince had promised him, but that could mean the prince had begun his journey to Anwir’s castle alone. Mind splitting between worry for the prince’s life and anger towards both the prince of leaving and himself for caring, Roman dropped to one knee, scanning the ground for up turned leaves and grunting a little when his wounded shoulder was jostled. 

After less than a minute he found what he was looking for, soft tracks leading away from the clearing and into the sparsely tree dotted forest. He kept his eyes on them, following their way with his eyes until he was certain of which direction the steps were following. Standing up straight was difficult, walking normally even more so, but somehow Roman managed the first few wobbly steps and then managed a few less wobbly ones before he began to walk at a slow, but normal pace. His eyes switched from the ground to the forest before him, checking the tracks but also watching out not to run into a tree. As he progressed slowly, he noted the small wet patches of drying dew that dotted the earth, as if the drops had run off the leaves above onto the ground, but usually such a thing would not happen, instead the water would evaporate or sink into the leaves, but here were the droplets disregarding Roman’s knowledge. 

The sellsword focused back on the tracks, following them closely until he looked up and tripped over a loop of exposed root. He almost crashed into the ground but was able to stop it from happening by grabbing the tree the root belonged too, jerking his arm and therefore his shoulder in the process. Roman clasped a hand over his mouth quickly as a scream of pain threatened to fall from his lips, but he was able to keep such a thing from happening, biting down on the leather of the glove’s palm. He breathed in through his nose, trying to keep his breathing steady but failing easily. The sellsword was reduced to crouching by the root, back pressed against the tree as he attempted to calm his ragged breathing and still the tears that threatened to fall. 

After a few minutes, he was able to recover from the trip, gritting his teeth as he rose and began to follow the track once more through the forest. He moved slower this time, less chance for tripping if he was careful, and yet he felt himself speed up a little as he saw a clearing through the trees and shrubs ahead. The tracks were leading in that direction and Roman was grateful when he finally made it to the opening in the trees. He shielded his eyes for a second before blinking and sighing as he took in the bracing world around him. 

The trees that surrounded the small space were the same as the others, yet slightly shorter with white trunks and grey lines circling the expanse of white bark. Most of the area was covered in grass, but a few rocks erupted form the ground, covered in a moss as green as clover and catmint leaves. The grass ticked his boots, thin and short spikes of soft early spring grass that was much lighter than the moss. From his feet and the rocks, Roman took in the small lake, crystal clear with a gigantic tree in the middle of it. Dark brown bark curved upwards into a leafless canopy but from where Roman was he could see a strange glinting in the branches. He took a step closer into the clearing and neared the diamond clear lake with slight trepidation. The sellsword stopped at the shore and marvelled at what he saw; tiny golden leaves were slowly growing on the tree, the branches twisting slightly every now and then as golden buds bloomed white flowers, centred with tiny gem stones of blue, red and dark green. Even as he looked on the tree began to fill, branches lowering a little as if the tree were alive and showing him the fruit of its labour. The thick brown branches sprouted tinier branches which in turn began to bloom the most beautiful bouquet of gold, white and gem stone shades. Had Roman not seen it for himself, he would have never believed such a thing possible, and with the revelation it was real his greed was sparked anew. Surely there were botanists he could force into helping him cultivate trees much like this one, he just needed a branch for them to grow it from. And should that not be possible a ruby centred white flower would fetch a price most suited to his needs. 

The lake rippled. Roman looked down at the pristine water, seeing his own reflection looking back at him with a smirk of greed that he was quick to wipe off, he’d never grow used to seeing such an expression on his own face. But his attention was drawn back to the tree as he took in its full glory, now it had seemingly stopped growing. Brown branches swooped down like willow tree branches, decked in golden leaves as they gently touched the water, while others looked like a crown atop the trunk, spreading out like an oak or fig tree, still bejewelled with the golden leaves and thousands of white blossoms. It seemed to spread far out over the water, sheltering the entire lake along with a good foot of shore while some of the willow like branches hung from the higher, reaching branches like lines of ornaments. The lake rippled again and Roman looked at the lake, quickly reminded of his most important task; finding the prince. He followed the shoreline around, brushing light branches aside as he walked until at last, he rounded to a section devoid of the branches, as if they were making way for something, or someone. 

He looked around for a second before stumbling back in shock. A gigantic falcon was bowing to the same prince he had been searching for, tiny fluttering creatures he could only see as fae sitting in the branches either side of Logan, animals crowded the shore whilst a few large tortoises were stood in the shallow of the water’s edge, snails and small dragon flies perched atop their green laden white shells. It was as if the falcon was giving Logan a coronation of sorts, even more so when a few of the fae flew forward towards the great bird and were given a few of its feathers, flying back as the tree lifted one short willow like branch and waited for the fae to pluck it. The crown they made of the falcon’s feathers and tree’s branch was more beautiful than any other crown Roman had ever seen; the gold of the branch twisted to a perfect circle and decorated with golden leaves and white flowers, the snow white feathers – some small, some large – were placed from smallest to largest around the crown, the tiniest ones at the front with the largest ones framing the back. 

Though stunned by the beauty of the moment, Roman dared to touch his axe, lodged on his back waiting for use. Should this coronation turn sour, he wanted to be the one to land the first and final hit of the brawl. A hand touched his own and Roman wheeled to a face he knew he’d seen before. Silver spectacles so familiar as the faun looked at him with gentle eyes. 

“The Great Falcon will not harm him”, the faun said, voice as gentle and soft as its eyes, “the prince is most welcome here and the falcon has done for him a very rare thing. He has given up his place for the prince, declared him worthy of our admiration and shown him the utmost respect one can give another.”

“If the falcon believes Prince Duhn is worthy of such things, he surely is much more than he appears”, a slow, rough voice said and Roman turned to his other side where the tall centaur watched the actions of the falcon and prince. 

The falcon raised itself, body righted, and wings pulled tight into itself as it watched over Logan with softened molten eyes. It closed black lids over the mess of orange, red and yellow before opening them once more to watch the prince near it, one hand outstretched as he bowed slightly and continued forward. The warmth of the human hand was pressed against cool black feathers, fingers running gently over the many coal black keratin constructs. The falcon moved its head down a tiny bit, beak resting on its chest as it bent further. Logan took the chance, running a hand over the black beak and smoothing the tiny feathers on the gargantuan bird’s head. 

It was a sudden jerk, the head of the falcon lifting up as its eyes snapped open. It let out a strangled cry before an arrow impaled its heart and it burst into millions of miniature black and white feathers, showering Logan as the arrow fell to the ground and a cry of anger came from the bushes. The world was sent into a panic, animals sprinting off as the fae left, the sound of tiny bells following them in their wake. It was near instinct, what Roman did next, springing towards Logan and grabbing his arm, pulling him away from the fluffy remains of the Great Falcon as he pulled the prince towards the forest edge. 

The sound of galloping horses catching his ears as he looked for somewhere to shelter the prince. He turned just in time to get sent to the ground, the end of a bow blackening his vision for a second before he came to on the ground. He turned onto his stomach, ignoring the intense pain in his shoulder as he leapt to his feet, axe in hand and ready for combat. The one with the bow that had previously knocked him down had turned, riding a horse with an arrow aimed at Roman, but seeing the person Roman had behind his back, smirked as they changed the course of their arrow at the last moment. Roman was just able to drag Logan out of the way, ducking as another arrow flew over his head. He shoved Logan in the direction of the wooded area, following close behind with his back to the retreating prince, axe up to take out anyone who dared to get too close. 

Arrows flew at him, axe blade up to defend as best he could before he noticed he wasn’t alone in fighting off all the warriors in the field. Apart from the one shooting at him atop a horse, there were two trying to fight their centaur guide, another two without horses crowing the faun who, despite looking so gentle before, seemed eager to fight off the intruders. Roman heard a yell and turned to the prince, dodging an arrow before he saw Logan’s wrist in the firm grasp of another warrior atop horseback, this one without a bow but with a sword and a menacing scowl. 

There was a shout and Roman was torn between knocking his axe handle into the wrist of the horse rider and freeing his captive before grabbing Logan and wheeling around to see their centaur guide throwing a warrior off its back and sprinting towards them. Dirt flew into their faces as the centaur came to a stop, quickly turning its right side towards them and looking about as it sheltered them from view. 

The human head turned to them, white paint a little chipped and glistening with sweat. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get the prince on my back and get moving”, the centaur yelled, clearly frazzled and anxious about their predicament. 

Roman was quick to bend, grabbing Logan’s foot and boosting him up onto the centaur’s back, though the prince protested doing such. The centaur gave Roman one more look before nodding once and sprinting off into the trees, fleeing with the prince whilst Roman twirled his axe, hand gripping the handle tightly as he smashed the axe into the leg of one rider, moving to the next as the howl of pain fuelled his adrenaline. He could see the faun sprinting away from the two warriors, the other two lying unconscious without their horses anywhere in sight. Roman gave the last saddled warrior a swift chop, causing the warrior to lose balance as they pulled their now bleeding leg up for inspection, bone peeking through the bloody mess of flesh and material. 

Turning on his heel Roman took off, the faun keeping pace with him as they caught sight of the centaur ahead, Logan clinging to their torso for dear life as they slowed, seemingly confused about where to go, turning this way and that. The faun caught up first, stopping beside the centaur who looked down with hastened breath. Roman caught them both, putting a hand on Logan’s leg as he bent forward to catch his breath. 

“Where do we go, Patton?”, the centaur asked, voice a little distorted by their irregular breathing. Roman took little notice, quickly remembering the faun’s name – Patton. 

“We need to get out of here. Draw them away from the forest and get the prince to the castle”, Patton said, spectacles shining as sweat pearled on his forehead, white feather cloak open to reveal the rest of his body and all the freckles on his upper arms.

“Let me down. They are after me and if you two remain helping me it is only a matter of time before one of you is hurt. By my action of running form my father I hurt Roman in the process, allow me to face the consequences of my actions”, Logan said, and even Roman had to resist rolling his eyes at the words. 

His breathing may be ragged, but he was still able to reprimand Logan for his words, “you think I would not have had a run-in with an Arania if you were not with me? Put it in the past and move on, we are getting you to Anwir’s and that’s final.”

“But...”

“No. Shut your pretty mouth, get off your high moral horse, and hang on tight. I am getting that reward money you owe me”, Roman growled, looking back around as he heard the sound of snapping twigs. He punched the centaur’s side, urging him to move as the snapping echoed again. The sellsword had to punch harder the second time, the centaur not seeming to listen to him the first time he tried to tell him to run.

The second time though, the centaur seemed to listen to reason, turning and beginning to race off through the trees with Logan hanging on tight. Roman and Patton raced off after them, quick to dodge trees and shrubs as they shared a single glance before they heard the sound of hooves against the somewhat dry ground and turned their gaze in time to see a horse and rider spring from behind a dense section of high bushes, just a few feet in front of them and roughly ten feet behind the centaur and rider. Neither had time to even speak, the arrow sent straight and sharp into the left upper section of the centaur’s arm. 

The centaur didn’t slow, but the grunt of pain was enough to warn them as he tumbled to the ground, sending Logan flying to the ground as he sagged to his knees and let out a sharp cry of pain as the arrow tip poked out of one side of his arm, blood slowly flowing from the wound. Logan was the first on the scene, looking over the injury as Roman and Patton sped forward, slowing as they finally neared the downed centaur, groaning in pain as Logan helped him slow his erratic breathing to a manageable speed. The centaur slowly stood, shaky legs nearly collapsing under him as he grasped the end of the arrow. 

“Do not pull it out”, the command was so loud and clear that all three stopped to look at the prince, face brought into an angry glare as he looked up at the centaur.

“Why?”, the centaur’s voice was as rough as Roman had expected, but his voiced question was about to help them gain understanding into Logan’s command, so he didn’t say anything against the centaur’s quaking voice as much as he would have liked to.

“If you pull it out, you will bleed more”, the prince said quickly before an arrow whizzed past his head and the rider slowed to a halt atop their horse, looking out at them.

“The prince. Now”, they said, drawing another arrow from the quiver on their back and setting it into place. Roman took one look at Patton, noting how the faun nodded once at him and then walked forward towards the rider, axe slung over one shoulder with a cocky bounce to his step. The rider didn’t seem phased by Roman, but he was much more phased by Patton who snuck up behind him and startled the horse, causing it to gallop towards Roman who, in one great swing and a loud crack, sent both rider and horse toppling to the ground, one of the horse’s legs cut clean through and missing behind it as it whinnied and neighed in pain. Roman was more focused on the rider; the pleas of the warrior fell on deaf ears as the axe was buried through his neck. Patton took care of the horse, offering it some berries which it ate quickly, dead in a matter of seconds. 

“We leave now”, Patton said, turning and passing the centaur and Logan, bringing his cloak together to shield his body as all four began to walk through the forest. 

It took them less than a minute to reach a wall of rock, spread out on either side to seemingly encircle the Faerie Forest from intruders. There was a crack, barely big enough for their smallest member, but when Patton turned to the centaur, Roman knew they had a plan formed already. The centaur turned his back to the wall, lifting one hind leg to check the distance before bucking his strong legs into the stone, cracking it further. He repeated the action a few more times before the wall broke, crumbling away as revealed the forest on the other side, covered in a thin layer of snow as winter began to set in. Roman could have sworn it was early autumn not a day ago, yet the snow told otherwise. Logan seemed hesitant to walk in the snow, feet already looking pale and cold from the mere sight, but the centaur bent a little, offering his back to the prince once more and his act was accepted quickly. 

The four quickly walked from the Faerie Forest into the snowy wilderness beyond the wall. As eager as they were to set up camp for the night, they couldn’t help but marvel at the white powder all around them. Glistening white as pure as such a natural colour came, icicles hanging from the sparse and bare trees around them, a few flakes spiralling down from the sky as grey clouds drew in overhead. There was a distinct soft crunch to the snow, and though Roman’s feet were freezing in his thin leather boots, he was used to such things and allowed himself to be caught up in the sights around him. 

They traversed for less than an hour, walking through the snow and wondering about the ice-covered lakes before coming to a rocky outcropping that hung low over a sheltered patch of dead leaves and grass. It would do for the night, a decent spot to make camp and so they stopped for the impending night. Logan staying at the back of the open cave-like structure while Roman took to collecting twigs with Patton for the fire, the centaur too weakened from pain to do much else but stay with the prince. 

They’d walked a few minutes from their camp when Roman had the confidence to speak up, “your name is Patton, correct? Were you the sir from the tavern?”

“You are the sellsword that killed all those people, are you not?”, Patton asked in return and Roman had to grimace a little at the icy chill in the faun’s voice. It was true, he had killed many people that day, but the faun could have been a tad more understanding, couldn’t he?

“Your companion, the centaur, what is his name?”

The faun stopped, looking back at him in confusion before understanding dawned on his face, a small smile tweaking the corner of his mouth, “you were unconscious, of course. His name is Virgil. I am Patton. Tell me, sellsword, why are you helping the prince?”

“For money. I thought that was obvious”, Roman muttered, looking around and grabbing a few small sticks to rub dry with his cloak. An improvised solution, but as close to dry wood as they would get in such weather. 

“No, no. You are in this for much more than just gold. Why are you truly helping him?”

Roman sighed a little, looking at Patton’s eyes and seeing curiosity and genuine happiness in their depths, “I do not think I can tell you. It is a selfish reason, something more selfish than greed for gold.”

“I am an unbiased party”, Patton responded, “regale me.”

“Prince Duhn, Logan, he reminds me of someone I used to know. An old friend I would give the world to see again, but while King Duhn told me he could bring my friend back, I know he is lying.”

“I see”, Patton said, voice steady, but saddened, “and what was your friend like. Perhaps you could tell me about them and allow your load to be lightened.”

Roman thought for a second then finally allowed a smile to take over his lips, “he was short. He was always so short compared to me, but he was always so hard-headed, much like a bull. Stubborn, angry, always so wound up by the smallest of things, but he was gentle and kind. He was unlike anyone I had ever met and still is unlike anyone I have encountered since. We were young when we were separated. But if one memory in my head sticks out, it is the one of the ring I gave him.”

“The ring you gave him?”, Patton’s voice seemed strained, a little tight as if trying to hold back tears. 

“Yes. I gave him a ring. Are you alright, Patton?”, Roman asked, frowning as he looked Patton over, the faun seemed stiff and tense, but he shook it off a second later and gave Roman a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. They stopped talking after that and proceeded to gather more wood and sticks before heading back to make their fire. 

The night was spent in silence, Logan quickly falling asleep, but waking shortly after in a drowsy state as Patton piped up about hearing Roman’s tale. 

The sellsword was quiet for a second before he began, “I suppose I will cut my tale short; I had a friend when I was very young. He meant the world to me and before we parted I gave him a ring I made of iron as a gift of friendship and love. When we parted I was sent into the wilds and spent the better part of my childhood training in the forests to become a sellsword. By the time I had matured to my fifteenth summer I had killed many people, including a supposed witch who helped me, believing me a young boy in need of medical attention. Before I was approached by the king to find Logan, I spent most of my time drinking and doing much dirty work for the royalty of the kingdoms. But then Duhn approached me, I won a little contest and then found Logan in the Grim Forest. Now I protect him, keeping him safe until we reach Anwir’s castle in order for my reward to be claimed.”

“You gave your friend a ring?”, Virgil asked, Logan still partially asleep close to Roman. He could tell the detail had stuck with the centaur but something about it had stuck with him too, imbuing him with a sense of hope and happiness. 

“You as well? Patton thought it an odd detail as well”, Roman muttered, but Logan wasn’t listening anymore, so tired that even though his excitement had skyrocketed, he was still too sleepy to do anything, falling into the abyss quickly as sleep took hold. 

“Well, we only wonder because…”

“Because it is an odd thing to mention”, Patton interjected, though Roman knew he was trying to cover something up. He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth, closing his eyes with a sigh as he looked down at the now sleeping prince beside him.

“I suppose it was not really worth mentioning”, Roman said, sliding down the cave wall and curling a little closer to Logan, running a few fingers through his hair with a soft smile before pulling his cloak over them.

“I would not say that”, Patton murmured, also growing sleepy as he curled up beside Virgil, arrow removed by Logan and wound bandaged by both Logan and Patton once the faun and sellsword had returned with fire making materials.

“I agree”, Virgil said, bending over and running a hand over the wound as he looked back at Patton, both sharing a knowing look before they fell prey to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roman has a dream and Logan learns the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you're all going to hate me for doing this
> 
> Short chapter today, longer one next week. Enjoy <3

_Roman didn’t exactly know where he was, but wherever it was it was dark. He couldn’t see anything else around him, not even his hands as he looked down to find them. However, it wasn’t as soul-crushing as one might think it would be, in fact, Roman found the darkness a tad pleasant as if it were flowing through his mind and drowning him in a layer of warm honey. As if his bones had turned to cream in his body, mind running empty of anything except being helpless to the warmth and comfort he was surrounded with._

_He didn’t flinch when something wrapped around his wrist, a hand wrapped in a leather glove, he didn’t really figure it out on his own, but rather when his eyes peered down over his cheeks, he was able to view the rest of his body bathed in light from an unseen source. Another hand wrapped around his waist, twisting the fabric of his pants as the hand on his wrist moved down to grasp his hand, threading fingers through his own as a chin was placed on his shoulder, heavy and only slightly uncomfortable. The body behind him swayed a little, turning to press its nose into his neck and gently kiss the skin above the collar of Roman’s shirt and cloak._

_Roman closed his eyes, so lost in the sensations that he only saw the mirror in front of him when he opened his eyes and the hand in his own had slipped down to grasp at his waist, meeting the hand already there. In the ornate mirror, taller than he was and surrounded by a golden frame, all he saw was himself, standing looking slightly out of it but happy. No mysterious person behind him even as he looked down to his own body and saw the hands, felt the hot breath of light kisses against his neck. His panic began to rise, what was with him if it didn’t show up in the mirror? But a hand ran up to his chest, the other rubbing circles into his hip while the lips parted for a set of teeth to nip gently at his tanned skin, and he lost all panic at once. How could this thing behind him be bad if it was making him feel so comfortable?_

_The hand reached up, the other meeting it to wrap around his chest and under his cloak, the lips and teeth stopped as the chin sat still on his shoulder, “you want to see me, Roman?”_

_The voice was like caramel, sweet and soft, flowing through his mind and filtering out any other thoughts he may have had at that point. Somewhere deep inside of him, he knew that voice, but in his predicament, he was unconcerned with who he knew it to be and where he’d heard the voice before. He nodded twice, quick and eager to see who it was that was behind him, silent hope taking over as the mirror’s surface rippled like water from the centre outwards. The ornate golden frame around it glittered and shone, blinding him for a second before he opened his eyes and relaxed back into the body of someone he’d spent many days keeping safe._

_Logan’s bronze hues stared into his own from over one shoulder, lips hidden from view even though Roman knew they’d been on his neck not a moment before. The ends of Logan’s eyes crinkled in some sort of delight, eyes shining as they looked into the mirror Roman’s eyes. Something about this moment felt so right to Roman, yet something was off in the way Logan was looking at him, something was off in his height and how he was dressed. Sure the man was a prince, but Roman knew Logan didn’t have gloves and that small bit of doubt spread to the rest of his mind as he began to notice other things off about the Logan behind him. His hair was darker than normal, eyes more narrowed, a small mole dotted his right cheek near the end of his eye, there was a small scar above his left eyebrow, and most convincing of all the more he looked at the Logan in the mirror the more he seemed to change._

_“Do not worry Roman. I may not be Logan, but I assure you I can give you this. I can give you what you want”, Logan’s voice, deepened only slightly, purred from his shoulder into his ear, head moving up and chapped pink lips appearing to press softly against the lobe of Roman’s ear. “I can make all your dreams come true, just nod for me and say yes.”_

_Roman resisted nodding this time, standing up straighter and turning his face to look down to see the Logan really behind him. He got a shock when he saw a perfect copy of the Logan he knew, a crown of golden leaves and white flowers sat atop his head, decorated with white feathers tipped with gold. The gloves were gone, shirt replaced with the dirty and slightly ripped one Roman had seen many times before, pants muddied and wet by his bare feet. It was a perfect copy of his Logan, the Logan he’d spent days keeping safe and out of harm's way. And though Roman was still a little wary he could feel his resolve weakening; how could he say no to the prince who looked at him like he’d hung the moon? So, he nodded. He knew he’d surely regret it, but he nodded his head and looked Logan in the eyes. This Logan smiled softly, shyly, as if unused to smiling and took Roman’s arm in his hand, swigging the sellsword to face the mirror once more._

_When Roman looked into the mirror this time though, all he saw was the darkness around him. But when sharp nails trailed lightly over his back, causing him to shiver, he couldn’t help but relax slightly. Most of the time he would cry out in fear, sharp nails of any sort would usually mean death for him in an instant, but in this place, in the darkness with the mirror, he couldn’t bring himself to feel bothered by any of it. One sharp point tapped his cheek lightly, a hand coming up to clasp the firm flesh as the sharp ends scratched the top of his cheek lightly._

_“Bring him back to me and I will make you one better than being the rich man you so desire”, hot breath ghosted over Roman’s cheek, the sharp nails of the other hand digging ever so slightly into the skin of his shoulder as silky hair brushed over the back of his neck, “I will make you a king. The wealthiest king to ever rule.” Roman blinked at his reflection in the mirror, watching as the silhouette of a man appeared slowly, then features and colours after, the man behind him whispered to him. “I will give you gold, jewels, enough drink to fill your cup for eternity and then some. I can give it all to you. You will have wealth, beauty, people at your feet. You will never even have to touch the ground and it is all yours if you bring him to me.” Roman swallowed and let his mind wander, tendrils of foggy thoughts creeping through his mind as he envisioned himself upon a throne of pure gold with velvet cushions. His eyes focused back on the mirror and he saw is vision brought to life, himself sitting on the throne he had envisioned, his childhood friend by his side in a throne of his own. If that was to be his future, he would gladly do anything for it. To see the one, he loved once more would be heaven served on a golden platter. He nodded jerkily a few times and looked at the ground before finally closing his eye and bringing his head up, opening the brown pools to the man at his side._

_“What do I have to do?”_

_____________

Logan came to just as the sun was rising, white sunlight bouncing off the snow and blinding him for a moment before he adjusted to the new sensations. He was still cold, though he was wrapped in Roman’s cloak, the warmth that had been there had faded slightly, so surely Roman had only left him a few seconds ago. Curling into the quickly fading warmth, Logan pulled the cloak higher, rubbing his hands together under the cloak as he through back to the night before. 

Could Roman really be his friend from his younger years? Did he dare hope such a thing was possible? Perhaps if he showed Roman the ring, he would remember it, see Logan was his friend from days long passed and be there for him once more. Logan reached a hand up to the rope around his neck, running his fingers over the coarse hairs before finding the ring at the end. The iron was warm to the touch, no doubt due to his own body temperature, but it was cooling the longer he held it in his hand away from chest and in his hand, so he slipped it back under the shirt he wore and rubbed a thumb over the indentation of the ring under his shirt. 

The sound of feet crunching through snow caught his attention, turning his head to look across the dead fire at the glimmering forest. Large brown boots covered the ends of pants, a dark shirt covering strong tanned arms, wood gripped by hands encased in leather gloves. Roman stood at the edge of the forest, eyes focused on Logan as the prince sat up slowly, looking the sellsword over from the wood pile to his feet and back up to his face. 

“Thought I would get more”, Roman mumbled, walking closer and dropping the pile onto the ground with little regard for the dead wood. He turned to Logan, crouching down and peering at him from over the top of the dead fire, attention moving back to the wood as he began to place it in a small pile that he stopped from rolling away with a rock. His axe and knives no longer hidden by the cloak were shiny with melted snow, out on display with a dangerous gleam to them. 

Logan nodded, a little late but regardless of that he did so and looked up from the pile to Roman’s face. The sellsword's eyes were attentive towards his task, the pile of logs stacked into a decent formation before, then the hues of bronze and gold turned on him. There was a hint of amusement in the otherwise curious gaze, but Logan acknowledged the gaze with pulling his knees up to his chest, resting his head on the tops of them as he watched Roman stand and slowly pace towards him. Leather boots making a soft, but steady thud as he walked until the sound stopped and the sellsword was in front of him, taking care to descend into a kneels slowly, knees digging into the dirt and dead leaves of their open cave. 

Roman dropped from his crouch into sitting on the ground, looking at his hands as they fiddled with one of his many knives, eye not releasing from it until Logan pulled on the cloak gently, tugging it up over his shoulders and over to behind him, offering one edge of the fabric to the sellsword as a gesture of goodwill in the awkward silence. Roman took the edge gingerly, slowly inching in as he pressed up beside Logan, putting the knife away for a second as he wrapped a gloved hand in the fabric and pulled it taunt over his back and chest. Logan sighed softly, still a little tired as his head dropped onto Roman’s shoulder, eyes closing over as the warmth from the sellsword began to heat him up. 

A hand wrapped around his shoulders under the cloak, thumb rubbing gently at the shirt covered flesh before trailing a little lower and grabbing Logan’s unused hand, intertwining their fingers as best he could as both slowly began to dose once more, leaning into each other for support as their eyes closed and fatigue wore them to a mild sleep, not quite awake yet not quite asleep either. Logan hummed gently, following a melody in his head, something his mother used to sing to his friend and himself when one of them was injured or upset. It was a slow song, the true words escaped him, but the meaning and story behind the song stuck with him; do not fear, for not all wolves are evil. The story of the song had been something that interested Logan far more than the meaning of the song. Short though it may be, the story was precise in little, detail lacking apart from a few glaring plot points; a little boy entered the forest one day and came across two wolves, one said he would give the boy safe passage while the other said they were lying. The boy chose the wolf who said they were lying and was almost eaten, saved by the wolf who told him he would grant the boy safe passage, and ultimately the boy was allowed to leave the forest under the eye of the watchful wolf. Short, concise and to the point; but that was why Logan adored it so, along with both the melody and tune being easy to remember and follow along with. 

As he continued to hum another joined him in song. A deep voice that vibrated through Logan and ricocheted off every blood vessel and bone in his body. Roman had begun to sing, soft and slow at first before growing in volume when he noted Logan had stopped humming along with him. It was a surprise to hear someone know the song, the song being made up by Logan’s great-grandmother for her son when he was younger, and never had Logan heard an outsider from the castle sing the song, only ever those within the kingdom and those in the village near the castle. It only solidified what he had hoped last night, the idea that Roman could very well be the young boy from his memories only solidifying with every second he continued to sing the song.

At last the song tapered off, ending with a long low note that Roman barely reached even with his deep voice. Logan turned his eyes towards Roman, noting the way he had a small smile on his face, staring off into the white winter wonderland beyond their overhang. He seemed to be caught in a memory, or perhaps a dream, something that unfocused his eyes and made his concentration shift from the present to the past. The smile was tweaked a little, the left corner pulled up a bit higher before the right reciprocated the gesture and returned it tenfold. His eyes crinkled, joy sparked in their depths, and Logan watched it all, enthralled by the sudden display of such positive emotion. 

Logan moved a little, an accident though he was merely trying to correct his positioning, and in a second Roman’s eyes were on him instead of the world outside, surprise written on his face before it softened in a small sense of delight, and he spoke, “I need to show you something.”

The sellsword stood, bending a little and offering his hand as the cloak was fully draped around Logan, covering his body from view. Logan looked at the hand then back up into the face of the sellsword. In those eyes he saw genuine happiness and he took the hand, allowing himself to be pulled up to Roman’s level and stand fully, fastening the cloak around him with one hand, gripping the edges close to his chest as he was tugged forward, past the sleeping bodies of their companions, both still so blissfully unaware of the pair of humans leaving the safety of their outcropping. 

Outside the outcropping, Logan is bombarded by the sight of snow. Piles upon piles of fresh white powder that is much denser than it appears, it glittered in the sunlight with such a blinding pureness that Logan had to close his eyes, quickly opening them again as he heard the crunch of boots on snow. Roman had sunk his left foot into the thick white mass, shoving it down as far as possible before withdrawing it and looking into the hole he’d made. He seemed to be checking something before nodding and taking a step in front of the previous one, looking back at Logan briefly before twisting his feet in the snow and moving his left out of the hole and onto a fresh patch. 

“The snow is thick and far too cold to be traversed with bare feet, but without boots, this will have to do”, the sellsword said, beckoning Logan forward. Logan looked into the hole, marvelling at how large it was before realising his leg and foot would both easily fit inside without touching the snow. The ground below was showing through, wet dirt but not the chilled white powder that would have cooled Logan’s skin beyond a decent point. He took the step in and shuddered, the chill surrounding his leg was still there and the wet dirt was as cold as the snow itself, but it was still better than immersing his legs and feet in the snow. 

Ahead of him, Roman had begun to walk, still making the deep holes for him as he began to trek away from the camp and into the trees. He was climbing up a hill, the snow much thinner than that near the overhanging rocks but Logan could see Roman still making an effort, grinding his boots into the snow and revealing the dirt below before taking a step forward to repeat the action. Logan was quick to hurry after him but stopped when Roman began down the hill and Logan was left at the top. He was sure he couldn’t see the entire forest, but what he could see could only be described as magical. The white seemed to stretch out for miles, dark trees twisted and covered in thin layers of snow and hanging icicles. The sun caught the frozen water, some of them beginning to melt, drops of fresh water slipping down and forming a ball at the tip of the icicles, dropping to the snow when it couldn’t hold on any longer. He could empathise with that logic, unable to hang on to something any longer yet still wanting to remain, becoming free only to find something blocking his path. 

Logan shook his head, looking down the hill towards his companion. Roman was still going at his trail of footprints, almost the size of Logan’s thumbnail with how far away he was. Logan raced down the hill, tripping once and sending himself spiralling down into a heap where he groaned and shivered. There was the sound of crunching snow as Logan dug his hand into the white in front of him and tried to push himself up. A hand grasped his upper arm, heaving him out of the mess and into a pair of tracks Roman had left for him, the sellsword sighing gently and brushing off some of the already melting flakes and clumps of snow. 

The prince looked down sheepishly, following Roman until he ran out of tracks and Roman began to make them once more, moving on for a few more minutes. Finally, Roman stopped in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by sleeping trees and twiggy bushes layered in snow. Logan looked around, marvelling at the beauty of the area. To one side there was a cut down tree, the remnants of snow still fresh on the rest along with the shards of wood and bark that had come with cutting into it, to the other side was a waterfall, a small one that dipped into a pool, a river snaking away from it and out of the clearing. But what amazed Logan the most was that the waterfall was frozen solid, white spikes of frozen water hanging off one another from the edge of the rocky cliff. From the waterfall and downed tree, Logan’s eyes were taken to a large white tree next to the waterfall, a tree with bark he knew well from his time in the castle. While it was indeed a rarity, he knew there had to be more apple trees like the one in his home, whitebark stretching into thing and long branches that spread out instead of up, and though devoid of leaves and apples, Logan knew the tree well enough to know it was an apple tree like his own. His heart ached to see that tree once more, but he steeled his nerves against such things, he couldn’t be distracted right now when they were so close to getting to Anwir’s castle. 

“It is beautiful”, Logan said, turning to look at Roman who wandered around the open space with a small smile on his face. 

He stopped in the middle, looking at Logan, “I thought you might like it. I know you have a tree like this at your castle.”

Logan nodded, looking down at his cold feet before looking back up at Roman, “thank you for showing me this.”

“Oh, it is not of consequence. I merely thought it would prove to have a more stable relationship between us”, Roman said, Logan frowned for a second. Hearing Roman talk like that was unusual, to say the least, but he chose to ignore it and look forward in life. If Roman wanted to get to know him better, then he would try to do the same and take care to notice the sellsword’s interests should he be able to bring him the same happiness he had brought Logan just then.

“I agree”, Logan said, taking a step forward and revelling in the cold and wet of the snow, they would be heading back soon, so why not enjoy the feeling of the cold snow whilst he could. Virgil would carry him to Anwir’s, Patton by his side and Roman on the other side, keeping an eye out for anyone who would dare try to harm them. 

“Logan”, Roman began, pausing briefly to catch Logan’s attention and draw it back to him, “I understand you and I have met before. I believe it silly I did not see you for who you were once upon a time.”

Logan watched Roman near him, eyes soft as he reached a hand out and took Logan’s in it, cold glove meeting warm flesh as their fingers slotted together beside one another. Roman’s touch, though kept from truly touching Logan, was as soft as his expression, full of a warmth Logan had never seen before yet one he hoped he would see again. Roman reached with his other hand for Logan’s neck, gently tugging at the string and pulling out the ring from the shirt confines, as if he knew it had been there the entire time.

“I saw it when we bathed in the river. A glimmer from the distance, but I knew it had to be you”, Roman stated, words pouring out in a way Logan had never thought possible. The ring fell to his chest, Roman’s fingers pressing on it gently, so it pressed into Logan’s flesh and shirt, “you are the boy from my childhood, are you not?”

The prince didn’t reply, simply stared into Roman’s face, as if memorising every detail and seeing him for the first time in a new light. Both were silent as their eyes connected, each holding a hope that mimicked the other in some way yet was still their own in others. Roman was the first to move, pulling his intertwined hand away from Logan’s to take one side of the string, his other hand taking the other side of the string, and together both lifting it from around Logan’s neck and off. They quickly untied the knot, slipping the ring off and looking back up at Logan’s eyes. Neither said a word as Roman took Logan’s left hand, kissed the back of it and slipped the ring onto the finger between his middle and last, his ring finger. He straightened a little, thumb brushing over the cool metal before looking back at Logan. 

“You’re so beautiful”, Roman whispered between them, filling the silence with his words of praise. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Logan’s as both closed their eyes, Roman slipping one of his arms around Logan’s waist as both stilled in the quiet and the calm. Logan shivered softly, feeling his finger go slightly tingly and cold, but Roman’s chin rested on his own bent forward head and he forgot it, feeling only happiness as his world was whole once more. Logan sighed softly and Roman let out a breathy chuckle at the happiness Logan was feeling. 

_“So beautifully stupid.”_

Logan stopped, head spinning with the words as he felt a sudden wave of dizziness. The next second, he was on his back, crying out as cold began to overwhelm his body. Roman crouched down beside his head, grabbing a fistful of his hair and smiling cruelly at his pain. Logan could now feel true pain, blistering hot travelling up his arm and up from his torso. His eyes were able to catch the glimpse of the ring on his finger, steel silver now a shiny black as his skin had turned the colour of the snow, as white as Patton’s feather cloak or Virgil’s fur, so white it seemed unnatural. Tears began to trail down his face as he turned to look at Roman once more, smirk replaced with a stony glare, hand gripping tighter in his hair as Logan tried to speak, to ask what was happening and why. 

But Roman merely dropped his head back into the snow and stood, placing a boot on Logan’s chest and pressing down heavily. Logan struggled to breathe, unable to fight Roman off, both arms unresponsive to his commands. The chill was reaching his chest slowly, and he felt his lungs cut out. Unable to breathe he was left gasping for air that would not come, face paling as the colour receded from his cheeks, tears frozen to them as at last the colour faded from his chest and his heart slowed to nothing. The last thing he heard before completely blacking out was the laugh of someone he thought he could trust, but who turned his back on him when he trusted him most. The cruel laugh of Roman the sellsword.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When we left our...heroes they were unaware of Logan's demise at the hands of Roman. Now the follow up to that 5000-word long dream and walking segment. They're awake, up and ready to find the prince before continuing on their journey to Anwir's castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so uh...hey...
> 
> Look I know 4 and a bit weeks is a bit long for a break, I had planned to upload sooner (like last night), but things happened and life happened and stuff went a little...berserk for a week or so and after that I needed to calm down a little, but we are back on track with another chapter. 
> 
> *Party popper sound* so things to watch out for in this chapter...no blood, thank goodness, but magic blood I guess, kinda. Look it's a bit hard to describe without spoiling the chapter a little so I mean...kind of a fight scene but also not.
> 
> I have lost all of Roman's character in this. He was a little OC before and now he's more OC and he has changed in a bad way like I don't like how he was written into this chapter because he's not as...I guess tough would be a good way to describe his earlier incarnations. He's less..."badass" than the previous chapters, and I use that term loosely because well...I honestly don't know if it fully embodies who he is in the story before this chapter or not, so you be the judge on that one. 
> 
> Right, important things (like my absolute mess of an upload schedule): I will attempt to get another chapter up before New Years (my time) but seeing as how long this took to write I am not at all hopeful that it will be done by then. Best case scenario I can get it done between Christmas and New Years, worst case it gets done between New Years and Feb 1st. Either way, this will be continuing because while I have lost a little interest in it people for some reason seem to like it and I will continue until such time as this ends (which it was meant to within 7 chapters but I mean, here we are, so roll with it, please).
> 
> So in retrospect, I probably should have stopped at my usual tally of 5000 words or so, but hey I've been away and I feel terrible for not uploading so you're getting this 6600 word guy with (as the moment I'm writing this note) very little dialogue. [side note: the chapter was supposed to be 7000 words long, but I felt like ending it where I did made more sense.]
> 
> I hope you find some enjoyment with the new chapter, and I apologise once more for not uploading in such a long time <3

Roman’s laughter was cut short quite literally, the knife thrown at his chest making him cough as cold steel warmed and acclimatized to his hot blood. But even then, as the illusion shifted with a strange rippling sensation, the laughter only changed. From a full-bodied cackle, it dimmed to a chuckle, tanned hands wrenching at the metal in his body as the illusion cracked, a thin line like a lightning strike made entirely of black distorting Roman’s face, as if a mirror had been shattered and two pieces lay together with only a single line between them. It was a somewhat grotesque sight, seeing it begin to appear all over as the colour drained from Roman’s skin, paling to the snow’s complexion as each little crack violated the body. Black blood began to drip slowly from the cracks, like tar or mud with a sludge-like consistency as if bubbled from behind white teeth and tittered from the edges of bulging eyes. Manic, was a good word to describe how the cracked and pale Roman looked ahead of them, eyes wide with sick glee as more cracks began to form, each new one only adding to the oozing black blood and splitting the image even more. 

It took no less than a minute before the dimmed laughing stopped completely, eyes closing over as the knife was taken hold of in an iron grip and finally, with a blood-curdling scream, was pulled from where a cascade of raven black blood bubbled and boiled, dropping into the snow as the knife was discarded, hot and without a blade. A silvery, metallic substance slowly joined the boiling pitch, the snow beneath Roman melting away as a puddle of the blood accumulated and scorched the tiny ice pieces until feet and blood met ground and at once the trees began to take in the corrupting blood spilling forth from the sellsword’s body. He laughed again, loud enough to echo as spindly veins darkened and killed the trees right before he brought one hand to his face and the illusion shattered, the hunched over figure of an older man still cackling softly as the snow began to melt faster, the heat spreading out to the edges of the clearing and for a short second that was where it ended.

Before another knife narrowly missed the man, straightening himself and patting down his robes with a hidden face, though they knew who he was. Glittering gold and black swished in the wind as the man snapped his neck back and let out a scream, so loud and piercing it shattered the waterfall, so full of raw dark magic that it made the trees bend and curl inwards, so full of hate and amusement that it made their bones rattle and their spines shiver. And, in no less than a second, thousands of black ravens swooped down towards the earth, appearing from over the top of the waterfall and disappearing into black tar as soon as they landed on the earth, but nonetheless, he was gone and so was the illusion.

_____________

Virgil had woken to a feeling of something not being right with the world. His legs had been stiff, cold and wet from the falling of the snow but as he lifted his head and looked around, he could see the small pile of logs that had been gathered and the tiny remains of an untended, but recently lit fire. He had been quick to gather bearing of his surroundings and calm himself once he deduced, he was no longer in the Faerie Forest, somewhere he had never slept outside of. But remembering the prior events that led to his being under the overhanging rock and the slight pain in his arm from the arrow that had wounded him the day before, he was able to slowly, ever so slowly, calm his breathing, one finger tapping out a rhythm against his right front leg in an attempt to regulate the breaths he took and expelled.

Once awake he had noted Patton curled up close to the back of the overhang, and the absence of both humans. No prince, no sellsword, and whilst normally that would appease him, that humans had left him alone, now the thought unnerved him a little. He had promised to protect the prince on their journey, he was unable to do that if the prince continued on without him. The tapping on his leg grew a little faster, one hand coming to clasp over it as he closed his eyes and retreated to breathing deep breaths, slowing down his mental process as much as possible before his ears pricked to the sound of crunching snow. A flood of relief washed over him in waves, gigantic waves that didn’t stop even when he opened his eyes and began to look towards where the sounds were coming from, across from him as they moved towards where the humans had been sleeping the night prior. They had abandoned neither himself nor Patton, he was still a viable option for protection, his heart rate slowing at the thought. 

Virgil kept watching where he knew the footsteps were coming from, waiting before a twinge of nervousness caught in the pit of his stomach. Why could he only hear one set of feet and not two? He tried to settle this with the idea that the sellsword could perhaps be carrying the prince, or that they had found a way for the prince to move through snow and it was a relatively quiet one. But as the steps closed in on their position, Virgil’s stomach only twisted itself into more knots over the lack of a second set of footsteps. Mind whirring as his dirty nails dug into the pristine white of his coarse fur, even under the layer of white bristles Virgil could feel the dirt like a layer between hair and skin. He supposed thinking about it was preferable to thinking about the single set of steps returning to their camp. 

“Virgil”, the voice was a little hoarse, scratchy and haunted but it calmed Virgil a little to know he had a friend in all of this. 

“My apologies for waking you Patton”, the centaur mumbled, head turning to the bundle of white feathers and hair, the tiny spurs of dulled ebony black like trees amongst the snow. The faun raised his head, taking in the centaur before he rolled onto his front and slowly took to standing, wobbling only a small amount from the loss of blood flow to his legs and the overall drowsiness of his situation. 

A hand peeked out from under the cloak, swatting the air gently before it reached up to adjust silver spectacles, “you are not at fault, young one. Where are our companions?”

“I do not know, but if my ears are to be trusted someone approaches from the trees”, Virgil said, tilting his head towards the direction of the crunching snow.

“Someone? You hear only one?”, Patton asked, Virgil stiffening under the loaded question. He could already tell his insecurities were littering his face, anxious about where one of their companions was but unable to say it should it cause more problems than it was worth. So, Virgil merely nodded once and waited for his response. 

However, his response never came as the footsteps stopped, a grunt following before they continued and their sellsword rounded a small patch of snow-dusted bushes, grunting out a few profanities that made Patton’s face twist in disgust and Virgil’s brighten a little. Patton’s long-held belief that no matter the situation, no profanity should arise being tested. Usually, Virgil would gain a soft slap to his side if he even began to say such things, but Roman was new to them and it may be taken the wrong way should Patton attempt to reprimand the human for such language. 

The human wrestled with the logs in his hands for a little over a second before looking up and seeing them staring on at him from beneath the rocks. His eyes caught the logs and dwindling fire and his expression turned to one of slight sadness and anger, “if I had known one of you would get more fuel, I would not have bothered myself.”

“We did not gather them”, Virgil said, finally standing upright on shaky legs as he moved into the side open snow around them, stretching as best he could whilst not injuring himself further. He sighed, looking around as he heard the trotting of goat hooves and the soft thumping of leather boots come together, he could tell from the sounds that the pair had begun setting the logs into a pile, hoping to keep some organisation as Virgil strained his ears for the sound of feet on snow. 

“When will the prince return?”, Roman asked, Virgil flinching a little as he turned his head and looked over one ebony and ivory shoulder. His ears had been turning in for the finest of sounds, even if Roman had whispered his query it would have been much like a shout in Virgil’s ears. The centaur shook his head turning his eyes back to the woods before noticing the track leading away from the camp, surely they had to belong to Logan, but their depth seemed to have been made with leather boots, much like Roman’s. 

Forgetting himself in his tracking, Virgil took to the woods, following the holes in the snow as he contemplated why Logan had left such a deep trail. Perhaps so they could follow him, but also perhaps so he could find his way back, either way, Virgil was going to follow. And by the sounds of the swift crunching of snow, he was not alone in such thoughts. Virgil continued slowly, cautiously, looking at each track individually before moving to the next.

He was just atop the first hill when a blur of tan and brown overtook him, racing down the hill and landing heavily at the bottom in a heap, but no time seemed to be spared as the human was on his feet quickly, slipping about a little before racing off after the tracks. Something about the way he carried himself, the way he seemed scared, spurred Virgil to move quicker, watching as the sellsword began to grow into a small dot before he took off at full speed form the bottom of the hill, hooves pounding into the snow and dirt and he was quick to catch up to Roman, slowing his pace to a soft trot as the sellsword breathed hard, looking on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. 

“What is your rush, human?”, Virgil asked, nowhere near as out of breath as Roman, and genuinely curious about the hurry in the man’s step.

Roman wheezed a little, trying to continue to run before he stopped and grabbed a tree, Virgil stopping his trot shortly after and returning to Roman’s side, “dream…shapeshifter…said no…said no…”

If Virgil had known Roman less, he may have thought the man delirious, but from his tales the night before and the embedded idea that something within the prince had made the Great Falcon give up its title and crown, he knew far better than he most likely should have. If the falcon deemed Logan worthy it was for many reasons, rather than one, but Virgil could tell there had been something not quite right with the human, something within him that burned with the elixir of magic he’d only ever felt when with the fae or near the falcon. With that taken notice of and the respect of the Falcon along with that, there must have been something wrong with him.

Roman’s short-breathed babbling was cut short when Virgil dipped to his knees and looked him in the eyes, waiting for the sellsword to realise what he intended to do. After a minute Virgil knew he still had no clue, “get on or I’ll leave you behind.”

At this Roman seemed to understand, quickly hopping atop Virgil’s back and not having a second to even grab on before Virgil lifted to his full height and bolted through the woods. If the centaur was piecing this all together correctly, he knew who they’d be facing next. 

Roman’s first knife landed a direct hit in the chest of his lookalike, breathing hard with a pain sitting heavy in his chest. Seeing the blade sticking out of his own chest made the muscles and veins over his heart constrict lightly, but he assumed that was normal when what he was seeing was himself with a knife in his chest barely ten feet away from him and cackling lowly as Logan lay by his feet as pale as the snow around him and unmoving. It had been an instinct he didn’t know he had, throwing the knife with deadly accuracy when he presumed a there was a threat to the prince’s wellbeing. The figure seemed to slow its movements, caught up in its own world as something warm stung the chilled skin of Roman’s cheeks, burning like fire against the frosty tan of his face. When the cracks formed it only made Roman’s skin itch, feeling as if it was pulling apart at the seams while he tried to keep his gaze locked on what was happening ahead of him. With the cracks came the oozing slick, the oil like blood that poured into the clearing and melted the snow as at last Roman had to avert his eyes in both fear and disgust. The sound his double was making was only amplified by the smooth and soft bubbling sound, like tar being boiled. Cackling populated by the gentle pop of the thick blood concoction as it cascaded from his doppelganger, the cracking and popping of bones intensified as Roman looked up and took in the new man standing by the prince’s side. His stomach stopped churning and turned to hot lead, fire burning in his core as his eyes looked over slivering brown hair and dulled ochre eyes.

His second knife narrowly missed the now reformed king, he was not scared of treason but even with Duhn now looking more like himself Roman couldn’t bring himself to kill the old man. Something in him held him back, a whisper that pleaded with him to back down and leave it be. So he did, taking a step back and glaring on with his hand outstretched in front of Virgil, the centaur’s skin practically vibrating with rage. The prickly white hairs shivered gently but stilled as the ravens flew over and cascaded down in a steady stream of shiny black into the earth. Bodies writhing as bones cracked and the ravens picked themselves up, forming a swarm as they rose into the air and departed the clearing. With the king gone Roman dove for the prince, running frantic gloved hands over pale skin before the sellsword grasped at the ring, leather slipping over the surface until Roman tugged one glove off with his teeth, biting gently at his fingers as he did so. 

Pale skin was caressed with the back of a tanned hand, so chilled to the touch it was as if he had frozen to death in the snow, but the ring told otherwise. The black ring, sparkling obsidian against snow white, was even colder to the touch that Logan’s skin. The ring so cold it almost burned, bluing Roman’s fingers and burning him when he attempted to take it off the first few times. It was clear though, from how the ring hugged tight, ink-dark kissing pale white as if it were the only thing keeping it alive. Though not well versed in magic, curses or spells, Roman knew enough to know that the ring was the cause. He was sure of it, how could someone otherwise freeze in the snow so quickly, the prince had barely been gone a half hour and clearly he was able to get so far as the waterfall and clearing. 

The other tell it was magic came from both Patton and Virgil, each sharing a glance as Patton dropped to a crouch in the snow and ran pale fingers over Logan’s hand, jerking away when they neared the ring as a storm brewed in his eyes. The jerky motion was accompanied by a soft glare from the centaur, helping Patton to stand straight once more as the faun adjusted his glasses and breathed out a shaky sigh. Patton’s eyes found Roman’s, communicating an uneasiness within both of them as Roman gripped the fabric that covered his knees, retreating his eyes from the shared gaze down to Logan’s snow dotted eyelashes. 

“We will take him to Anwir”, Patton said, voice gentle but with an edge of steel still there as he turned to face Virgil and gripped his wrist firmly for a second, releasing as he offered his arms and took Virgil’s feather cloak from him before he turned the way they’d come and took a step back in the general direction of their footprints. Roman glanced up at the centaur whose gaze was continuously locked on the peaceful expression of the snow-white prince, but his eyes flicked to Roman a second later before he nodded once and took a step forward, lowering his back a little as he bent his legs. Taking the lowering as his cue, Roman slid his gloves back on and gently slipped his arms under Logan’s lifeless body, wincing as the snow stung his arms, millions of ice tipped needles pricking his already chilled skin. 

The limpness of the prince’s body was a little overwhelming, after having seen him alive barely two hours before, now the knowledge that the king had lured Logan to his doom with Roman’s face more than unsettled him. His skin felt tight, throat constricted, jaw clamped tightly shut, fingers clenched in the clothes of the one person he was supposed to keep safe for the next two hours to Anwir’s castle. He’d seen it when he ventured for wood to keep the fire going. He’d been excited, thrilled to know that over a few hills, down a mountainside and past a dense thicket of thorny bushes lay a castle in the distance. In his mind’s eye, as he returned to camp, he’d told the prince how close they were, how far they had left to go before they reached the castle and he could reap his reward. Now where that hope had been sat a monster, hungry for happiness and darker than the most jet black of night skies. 

Roman stood on unsteady feet, taking two steps towards Virgil before he slid the prince onto the coarse white hairs and draped Logan’s arms around Virgil’s waist, raising a gloved hand to run it through the strands of oak hair, brushing a little patch aside to perch a tender kiss to the prince’s scalp before he trampled away from the small group, stumbling over his own feet until he collapsed by a tree on his knees and jammed the potion of his gloved hand, between his thumb and wrist, into his mouth as he bit down in time to force back the scream of anguish that was followed by the urge to expel his breakfast. 

His breathing came out in shallow, harsh breaths as tiny clouds of steam formed in front of his face and the chill of the world stole from him the precious warmth that accumulated in and on his face. He could barely even feel them but he knew tears were slowly trickling down his face, for what reason he wasn’t exactly sure. Logan had been just a ticket to fortune, nothing more, but he could feel his gut twisting as his mind tortured him with the knowledge that the idea Logan had just been his focus because he could bring Roman wealth was off the beaten track and over many rivers. Thinking it over, Roman knew that the prince had been worth much more to him than that, but why he couldn’t tell. 

He composed himself just in time to feel his covered nails digging into his skin, images of his own body cackling madly over Logan’s, thrilled by the prince’s demise, ran rampant inside his skull. It made him want to tear off every inch of his skin and roast himself over a blacksmith’s fire until he was nothing but charcoal and ash, then maybe he could at least keep the prince’s funeral pyre warm before they lit both of them ablaze. 

Slow hoofbeats trampled up behind him, a hand gripping tightly at his shoulder and making him turn to the centaur, somewhat struggling to keep Logan on his back while dipping to look at Roman, “get on, I cannot keep him up by myself.”

Roman merely nodded, standing to his full height and walking to Virgil’s side before placing unsteady hands on the white hairs that dotted the centaur’s lower half. He took a second to collect himself as much as possible before he lifted himself onto Virgil’s back and sat as he would have on a regular horse’s back. Looking ahead of him he saw the prince’s body, bent over the human half of their centaur friend and looking close to slipping off. Roman hesitated, he didn’t want to hold Logan knowing what his double had done and knowing he was supposed to keep the prince safe. His mere touch could harm the prince more, but he was counting – had been counting – on Roman to get him to Anwir’s castle. So, with much reluctance, Roman wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulders and pulled the prince to him, brushing aside a few stray hairs and jolting as Virgil began to move with the slightest bit of resistance, weighed down by two adult male bodies and the deepness of the snow below. 

The walking turned to trudging, thick snow forcing the centaur to move slower than ever whilst Patton turned around to walk backwards, hooves slipping on the occasional frost covered root or slippery patch of frozen over ground. His arms gripped the shimmering onyx cloak closer to his chest, midnight dark feathers ruffling against his own stark star white cloak. Virgil was breathing heavily, puffs of white emerging from his lips as they continued, and Patton knew he was masking how much the two bodies were truly weighing on him. If they continued like they were, the centaur would surely collapse with exhaustion. While they continued onward towards their end goal, Patton kept an extra close eye on the struggling centaur, not moving closer for fear of Virgil trying to push himself past his limits so as not to be seen of as weak. 

They were nearing the bottom of the first hill they’d crossed to get to Logan when Virgil’s right front leg gave way to the weight and he had to kneel quickly on the ground in order to gather his strength once more. This tumble, however, was the faun’s breaking point as he turned around and watched as Roman slid off Virgil with Logan in his arms, sinking his boots into the snow as he looked Patton in the eye, and both agreed the centaur wouldn’t be able to carry both sellsword and prince at once. When Roman started to move off with Logan in his arms though, Virgil reached out his injured arm and gripped Roman’s calf tightly, questioning eyes meeting a steel hard glare as Virgil slowly rose to stand once more and reached his other hand out to grip Logan’s shoulder, intent on carrying the prince the next few hours.

“Do not be so stubborn, Virgil. You are weary from your wounds and have tired yourself from carrying such loads, rest a while and allow us to shoulder some of the burden”, Patton cooed in a soft voice, but his eyes were set in the same way Virgil’s were, cold and unrelenting. Both magical creatures began their stare off, each hoping to win before they blinked and realised Roman was far ahead of them and nearly back to their campsite from the previous night, feet moving sluggishly through the thick snow as he adjusted his grip on the prince, now with his arms wrapped around the sellsword’s neck and chest pressed against Roman’s back. 

Both creatures looked at one another before they began forward, following Roman’s tracks as they slowly continued their way towards him, stumbling ever closer through the heavy laid powder around them. They caught up to him a few minutes later, the sellsword having stopped for a moment in order to catch his breath before the body on his back was gone and whisked into stronger arms than his own, even with one ebony appendage pierced. The knowledge he was unfit to carry the prince’s body quickly became a sore spot for the sellsword, as it had become for the centaur when he stumbled at the foot of the hill. Neither would admit it though, and one could only hope neither would bring up the other’s reluctance to release the prince’s body. 

The four stopped – or really three, the prince was not able to walk, but Virgil carried him valiantly – at their once overhang, the logs still stacked and fire still cold from when they left. It seemed a shame to waste the logs, but it would do them no good to carry them when they truly needed only to carry the prince to the castle and be done with their quest. But from there, two of the party’s quest would truly begin. For where would the pair find a home, their forest sanctuary was gone and their protector dead, they had no home to return to and no one beside one another to rely on. Their only hope was to live their lives out in the forest or perhaps beg for Anwir’s protection from humans and creatures that wished them harm. 

As if they could hear one another’s thoughts, both Patton and Virgil turned their heads to stare into the eyes they’d known for years. How they were to survive this, they could only hope to find out. With their livelihood dashed on the sharp rocks of misfortune, their only hope now was to be able to make it to the castle and pray they would be taken in by Anwir, whether he be merciful or merciless they would take it in their stride with a steeled heart and being that helped them through many a trial.

“Do not worry so much”, the voice that spoke was roughened with unshed tears and a dry throat. Roman cursed softly, wiping a gloved hand down his face, “you two are not in any danger. After all you have done, I will not be surprised if Anwir offers you refuge for the rest of your lives. And is he does not”, a breath, and an exhale, “he will be known as most unwise to decline you both refuge in your time of need.”

“Worry about yourself, sellsword”, Virgil growled, starting off the way he’d seen Roman come, bearing his wood earlier that day with an offering of warmth that never came. 

The centaur didn’t wait for the other two, merely straightening his back and moving off at a fastened pace from before, ire renewed with each powerful stride. Patton’s hooves kicked up snow as he approached Roman, gripping his shoulder tightly as both watched Virgil march on with a determined stare. The faun squeezed Roman’s shoulder briefly, signalling for the human male to look at him as he began to speak, “we appreciate your concern, truly, but your pity is not a required thing. Thank you for troubling yourself over our circumstance, but please do not think too greatly on something that is not within your control. We will be fine, and if we are not, I shall find a way to keep both of us safe.”

“I did not mean to cause offence”, the sellsword mumbled, voice softened by the sight of the centaur far ahead of them, white legs vanishing into the snow and brush as he trampled piles of white powder with every prideful stride. 

The faun nodded, dusting his head with one had to rid the locks of hair free of snowflakes, gently rubbing his fingers over one spur of ebony that protruded from his head, “he is…delicate about pity, preferring not to have it directed at himself. I warn you now that he will become more volatile should you attempt to engage him with words of kindliness and compassion.”

“Quit your small talk and walk”, a voice yelled from ahead of them, both turning to look at the centaur atop a hill, the limp body in his arms still sagging with dead weight as Virgil slowly slung the prince over one shoulder, motioning for the two to hurry up with a hand gesture before planting his hand on his hip. The pair hurried off after a brief glance at one another, following Virgil’s tracks as he turned and headed off down the other side of the hill, not checking how far away they were from him as he continued onward. 

Roman glanced around them as they walked, eyes catching the drops of light that sunk into the ground from the icicles, tiny specks of blinding white littering the snow even as the chill began to die off and be replaced with a mediocrely pleasant yet still cold breeze. The breeze carried the scent of fresh water, melting snow and a tinge of something vaguely fruity; like an apple orchard in full bloom or a banquet of ripe sweet wines and fresh produce. With the breeze came a cold unlike the snow, a little warmer and more appealing than the thick powder and icicle decorated trees. Through the cloud-darkened sky, a ray of sun pierced like a needle striking the ground a few hills over as the trio stumbled through the last few steps up to the top of a larger hill and looked out across the word below. 

From the foot of their hill, the snow melted into browned grass, dead and dying trees that were few and far between, along with a thin layer of brambles only a few inches high all over the ground. Though hesitant to step foot in the brambles, each trampled down the hill and towards the curves and twists of dead thorned fruit bushes. Roman took the first step in, wincing only slightly as the thrones pierced his boots and scratched his legs, the tiny spokes of hardened and sharpened plant material were sharp but not enormously so, giving him a little scratch closer to his ankles from lack of a second layer than on his calves where he had the extra protection of his pants. He beckoned the other two forward and they followed in kind, both giving off a little whimper of pain, Virgil’s stifled more than Patton’s, but both winced with the pain of the thorns until they were across the small sea of dead plants and walking towards the top of the hill, where they’d seen the sunlight grace the land with warmth and its presence. 

Atop the hill they stood in the sun, looking out across all around them, gazing from the trees at the foot of the hill to a large hill in the distance where a castle sat made of cold grey stone and lit with the orange glow of a thousand torches. Around the castle stood a wall as tall as one and a half birch trees, gliding down the hill from the wall was a village and at the foot of the village a river curved crystal-clear water around the hill and away, snaking back towards the three and the snow they’d come from. From their perch on the hill, they were bathed in sunlight, even as the rest of the world was covered in darkened grey clouds, roiling with pent-up rain and ready to unleash all they had stored up to that point. But they stayed where they were, in the sun, the warmth coddling them in its arms as they wished to never have to feel the shrill chill of the snow or darkened landscape ever again. Though they knew they had to continue, each sharing one last look at one another before they looked into the sky and slowly tramped down the hill and away from their patch of heaven. 

It took them far less time than they imagined to reach the bottom of their hill, staring across the expanse of shrivelled grass and dark sky as the torchlight in the castle and surrounding village flickered in time like a fiery heartbeat. They were homeward bound now, not much standing between them and safety from the king who caused their woes in the first place. As they reached the plain, noting out the various dips in the otherwise flat ground, they decided on one thing; they were going to run. They did run, Virgil taking the lead with his advantage of four legs and a horse’s stamina over a human’s two legs and a faun’s two legs. The centaur galloped across the flat, slowing incrementally so the two behind him could catch up a little, Patton making it to him first as Roman stumbled and panted up beside him, leaning an arm on the white hairs as they continued walking, climbing their way up to the river and crossing with a few small splashes before they stopped.

Roman was given Logan to hold as the pair donned their feather cloaks, fear rushing through their veins as they tied them tight around their necks, monochrome feathers brushing gently against their skin as a soft breeze blew through the village towards them. It was only then that Roman took into account something that had crossed his mind before, but something he’d never truly thought about until now; centaurs and fauns weren’t normal here. In the forests – the Grim, the Faerie, and the Bewitched – there were creatures most would only ever dream of, the two he’d gotten to know were the unknown here, and people like the villagers they would encounter feared the unknown to such a degree it bordered on hatred. If he had not feared for their lives before, he certainly did now. If they were found, they’d be at the least threatened, maybe hurt, and at worst killed. They needed to keep a low profile, so the cloaks would now become their protection from humans they deemed dangerous. 

Walking into the village was for Roman much like walking into every other village he ever entered, however this time he carried in his arms a prince and trailing him closely two mythical creatures. It was a first for him to be walking ahead of the creatures whilst carrying Prince Duhn in his arms and travelling up a hill to the castle of Anwir. Hopefully, the crown prince would be in a mood more pleasant than their circumstance and would be kind to them upon arrival instead of souring and mourning the prince earlier than need be. Roman’s train of through derailed suddenly when his boot sunk into a puddle of murky ochre water, pulling it back drenched and wrinkling his nose as he turned to look at the state of Virgil and Patton’s hooves, both black and white fur splattered with drops of mud. 

Around them people stopped and stared, Virgil dipping his human half lower to appear to be just a young one atop horseback whilst Patton rubbed at his fire coloured gem and his hoofbeats turned to the padding of leather boots on the winding dirt path. Roman paid close attention to all around them, each person was a threat in disguise and every citizen in their path could be their untimely undoing. There were a few curious looks thrown their way before one froze Roman, the one who gave the look began running up the hill towards the castle, trails of small stones tumbling down behind him as the man ran further into the walls before them. When Roman snapped out of his daze, he found a hand on his shoulder, tight and painful as Patton’s head whipped to and fro in search of danger. Roman merely sighed a little, pulling Logan’s body closer before they marched on up the hill towards the grey walls. 

The towering walls glistened with tiny flecks of rain, the scent of a fresh shower much stronger and more noticeable without the stench of pigs and cattle from the village. The closer they got the more they could see of the walls and the more they began to wonder what would become of them when they entered the stone archway and passed under the gleaming iron portcullis. Tiny drops of water were collecting on the sharp spikes of the iron, dropping down into half foot-deep square puddles. They narrowly avoided the puddles of the first but were slowed down when one of Patton’s hooves sunk into one of the holes from the second, Roman muttering quietly about how unneeded a second portcullis was as the faun tried in vain to wrench his hoof free. Virgil came to his aid, lifting him up by his upper arms before setting him down on the other side of the archway and narrowly avoiding stepping in the same hole as the faun as he ducked under the sharp spokes of iron. 

“Travellers, ho”, a voice called out, all three turned their heads to a guard decked in armour from head to toe, black cape flowing behind them with the double golden snake insignia of the castle’s resident. Light gleamed off the almost black armour, the extremely dark grey only split by the ties and chainmail underneath as the helm was lifted off and a head of blonde hair was exposed, “what brings you here?”

Roman only had the time to shuffle Logan’s body in his arms and open his mouth before a figure dressed in black and gold was at his side. The flash and speed at which the figure had appeared unbalanced Roman for a fraction of a second until he felt arms meeting his and gentle hands tugging Logan from his grip. He stiffened, pulled the prince closer to himself and finally looked at the figure that was trying to take away what had been with him for so long. Golden blonde hair caught him off guard, accompanied by a scarred left eye and a magnificent emerald green right eye. Cream skin dipped below a black shirt, emerging past the cuffs of a black cloak with gold trim and twin snakes entangled to form a latch that hung open on either side of middling broad shoulders. The crown of gold that was being clutched by the guard, dotted with many emeralds and onyx gems, could only have been thrown back with how awkwardly the guard stood holding it. 

The shamrock green and milk-white eyes looked up at Roman, the sellsword noting with a mixture of pride and curiosity that the man was a head or two shorter than he was and yet still taller than Prince Duhn. “My apologies for being so forward, but please allow me to take him. Gods could only tell what plagues my father would send down if I did not care for the Duhn boy.”

Roman blinked a few times before realising all at once who was standing before him; the crown prince Anwir, resident owner of the castle and the person they’d been trying to reach for days but had been too late to get to before Logan’s demise. All the fight left him at once, sinking to his knees and dirtying them more as he looked down at the limp figure in his arms. He raised one gloved hand, resting the prince’s legs over his own bent knees as he brushed aside a few stray strands of hair. “We made it”, he whispered softly, bending over the snow-white body and finally letting the tears fall.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is decided upon, Roman has a slight breakdown, and a battle plan is confirmed before someone drops by to check up on the planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A new chapter? Am I posting again? Oh my, but it's not even February. 
> 
> Yeah, we back :P 
> 
> Okay, so...yes, new chapter (because it was getting to that point again). Since we know how long it takes me to make these you can expect the next one to come sometime in later February between the third and fourth week or in the first week of March. 
> 
> The next chapter will most likely be the final one, and if not only one more after it. Not long to go now until the story is over, so strap in because while this is more of a filler chapter, the next one/two will be more action oriented. 
> 
> Enjoy, have a good day/night, and I will see you in the next chapter <3 
> 
> (Also, if there are some grammar mistakes, or spelling gone awry, it is because this was finished at 3.58 AM my time.)

Roman sat in his room with his head in his hands, mind running rampant as he pushed his feet off the floor and fell back onto the mattress made of straw and hessian. Eyes stared up unblinkingly at the cotton ceiling, the chill of night air pushing past the sweeping brown fabric walls and into every nook and cranny of the tent. He forced himself to blink, broken from his trance by the soft whimper of a faun lost to sleep but still chilled by the night. 

This was their home, for now, a large tent set up for them by the prince in a courtyard rearing for battle and retribution. With the coming of dawn, they would talk, practice, and finally face the enemy in battle. And while they fought the prince would slumber on a bench of marble and roses, waiting for the battle to end and for their return so the burial could proceed. Anwir had made a promise to them that Logan would not be tampered with until they could finally give him rest in fire and ash. 

Roman struggled with the thought, the mere idea that Logan was dead and would as soon as next week after the war, be given a funeral pyre twice as large as any of the kings before him – he had expected no less, to tell the honest truth. What twisted him up the most, however, was that despite all his declarations to want nothing more than wealth he was stuck in the tent feeling the icy claws of guilt and the deep burrowing of sorrow. 

He’d not been to see the prince since he’d been taken from Roman’s arms hours ago, merely the sellsword had been left in a daze as he tottered about in the clouds above and waited for the tears to dry on his face, hand held in a tight grip as their faun moved steadily away from the growing crowd. Though they all wished to be near the prince, in the end, they could still be killed or used for who they were, so with a heavy heart Roman decided that it was only right and fitting to stay near them. 

They’d passed strange looks as Virgil walked to the edge of the walls, slowing and stopping as he breathed out unevenly and Patton worried a thumb over his hand. Roman was still a lost cause for them, head high above with no way to be brought down, that was until Anwir approached them in a state of tearful dismay, putting on the bravest of faces and offering them a tent to stay the night in, a question aimed more at Roman than Patton or Virgil. The sellsword finally agreed when Patton had given him a rough kick to the back of his knee which nearly sent him sprawling, able to regain his footing before he answered with an affirmative. 

Now as night drew near, tendrils of light seeping from the sides of the tent and leaving nothing but darkened cotton, Roman wondered what Anwir’s next move would be. It had been long known by all that the two princes – one now a king – had been close, in their younger years at the very least, but now as the younger of them lay dead or dying on a slate of rough marble, and with the thought of King Duhn rearing to come for his son, the waters of clarity and clear thought seemed muddied beyond belief. 

Roman turned onto his side, hands gently scraping calloused fingers over the cool cotton. He’d been the first to properly talk to Anwir while their tent was being built and furnished, he talked in depth and told the king all that had transpired since he was called forward to be the prince’s retrieval guard. Anwir had been less furious and more concerned than Roman had expected, surely the king would be angrier knowing what Roman was supposed to do and for allowing his charge to fall prey at the hands of his father, but Anwir had seemed to consider everything and offered Roman a position of staying on as one of his guards – below the surface of the offer Roman knew lay some ill intent. The king had not given him such an offer out of true and good kindness. For all intents and purposes, Roman knew of the king most likely wished for him to repay the debt, as Logan had been Roman’s charge and while Roman had brought Logan to Anwir, he had also been the one to allow the king to dig his claws into the prince in the first place. Roman’s place in Anwir’s castle would ensure he would pay back the debt, it would keep him safe from Duhn should the king survive their onslaught, but it would also cause him to be under Anwir’s every scrutiny and only in this position could the current king of the castle make sure the sellsword was repaid and repaid his debts and guilt in full. 

“Quiet your mind, human”, a gravelly voice piped up, Roman’s head turning from the cotton to look at his knees as a quiet sigh followed and the voice once again spoke, “I can hear your incessant worrying from where I am.”

“Virgil.” Patton’s voice was soft and admonitive, he also followed the name with a soft sigh before the rustling of feathers piqued Roman’s interest enough to force his body to tumble over, from there, he looked at the pair on the other side of the tent, eyes slowly falling over each feather in Virgil’s cloak. 

Patton was fiddling with his cloak, gently picking away flecks of dirt and grass, fluttering his fingertips over the small tears and gaps where the brambles had torn away parts of the cloak. The hood was down, small horns easily seen as the faun ran a hand through his hair and rubbed at the base of the bone tine. It was easy to see they were no longer within their comfort zones, the centaur’s back straight as if ready to depart at any given second, while the faun had hunched over in a more defensive position. It wasn’t as heart-wrenching as Roman thought it may be to see them like so, mainly because the tiredness and guilt he felt was piled so high on top of him it was as if he were being pinned to the ground with three horses atop his chest. 

He nearly jumped a half foot in the air when something slid down his cheek, wet and warm with a stinging sensation all its own. The sensation was wiped away quickly, pulling himself into a sitting position as he gently wiped away the tear and tried to rein in his discomfort as his raw cheeks suffered the brunt of his calloused hands and dirt covered fingers. 

There was another sigh, the third if Roman was counting right, originating from the centaur this time, “your pain is your own, sellsword. But tell me, how long did the prince and yourself plan to continue this jest on Patton and myself?”

“Jest?”, Roman questioned, voice low and weak with a crackle of strain and disuse laced within. 

“Surely you did not think we would not pick up on such things. Your intricate stories, your histories with one another, your willingness to let slide the fortune you so rightfully deserve”, the last point was delivered with an air of sarcasm and distaste, but Roman couldn’t bring himself to care as his eyes widened in surprise. 

What Virgil had said was not entirely untrue. In truth, Roman did feel he deserved some credit, but the guilt was overbearing in that regard and such things as a golden reward were as far from his mind as spring was from autumn. Now he thought on it though, Roman didn’t know the prince’s history past that he had escaped his father for his father’s act of locking him up. He hadn’t any idea how long the prince had been locked up, nor the foggiest of why he had been or what had happened before. Logan’s life before the past few days, to Roman at the very least, were a complete mystery. How he had gone so long without such important information, without his mind reminding him of how little he knew, was so mind-bogglingly strange that for a minute he couldn’t even think. 

Somehow, he’d been stationed at the prince’s side for nearly a week and had yet to learn more than his name, family heritage and the fact he’d escaped his father. If Logan were a warlock of some kind there was a good chance he’d have been able to entertain Roman’s mind long enough the sellsword wouldn’t have even thought to ask anything past his name and a few simple questions, but the prince was no warlock nor a witch or any other kind of magically inclined human, to his knowledge – though he may have some sort of magic, the falcon from the Faerie Forest did bow to him, yet anyone magically inclined would have been able to see through such a cheap illusion as Roman’s double. 

“You are thinking too much about this.” Virgil’s voice was less crackly than it had been before, most likely due to the fact the centaur was more awake and had been talking more frequently, using his voice and slowly capturing back his true voice, “if it were not a jest, than pray tell sellsword, how did you not recognise each other with such wildly alike histories?”

Roman would never be able to understand how Virgil had done it, but with every word he had grown more and more worried about the prince without Virgil ever mentioning that Logan was in danger or in any way hurt. 

“Roman, tell us, did you know of Logan’s history past that of his father? Did you know how closely your past experiences and stories matched up?”, Patton asked, voice as gentle as his personality and more cooling to the rapidly growing fire in Roman’s head than anything else he could think of at present. 

The sellsword shook his head, still reeling from all the new information and accusations being thrown his way after such a harrowing ordeal had recently passed them by.

Virgil turned his face to Roman, the centaur watching the shock fade into wonder and awe as the sellsword sank a little on his bed, back bending over as if the weight of the knowledge was pressing against his shoulders. “You had no idea. Your story, the boy you gave a ring to from long ago, Prince Duhn had a story that was similar to a fault. In his story, he was given a ring made of iron, much too big for him, and if I am not mistaken it was worn around his neck on a string. There are traces of it having been on his finger though, a white line of skin circling one finger in particular, it is a wonder in itself you did not see the signs.”

“He has a ring”, Roman mumbled, voice so soft and ribbed with awe it was enough to make both centaur and faun exchange a somewhat sympathetic glance. 

Under the pressure of such a revelation, such an enormous weight the sellsword had never before felt, breathing became difficult. Bent over the edge of the bed, vision blurring as his feet split into four, bouncing between the normal and double amount of what he usually had – vaguely he wondered if Virgil saw eight when such things happened to him, but that thought was not stable enough in his cracking mind, so it slipped away like a leaf in a blustery plain. 

“Yes, he has a ring”, a new voice said, the opening of their tent sweeping apart as the wind gently blew past with a small smattering or rain. Roman’s head shot up, still reeling from the new connection but the voice had been able to peel apart the layers of his quickly built bubble, tearing it down with the suddenness of a tidal wave. King Anwir stood tall at the entrance of their tent, looking around at their shocked faces as he took in each individual with a soft smile that only just reached saddened eyes. 

Virgil and Patton were quick to cover up but at their sudden movements to hastily appear human the king gave a gentle chuckle, “please, do not fear my presence. You are guests in my castle, on my grounds and within my protection. I do not care how different you are from myself. Had I not been the son of a great king, I would not be alive at this moment.”

The king paused, making his first move and quickly shutting the opening behind him as he slowly walked to take a seat on Roman’s bed beside the sellsword, removing his water splattered hood and taking the crown from his head. Gloved fingers ran over each gem slowly, “I do not take for granted what I have been gifted. But, please, I ask of you not to fear for your lives. You are safe here, I will uphold that until I am dead.”

“Your majesty”, Patton began, taking the hood of his cloak off once more to look Anwir in the face, each finally able to see the king up close as both centaur and faun shifted a little closer with a mixture of hesitation and gratitude. 

“You can see it now, can you not?”, the king asked in a melancholy tone, removing his left hand and slowly tracing the scar that ran from his chin to his forehead, pale white and stark against the natural tone, disrupting what would have been a neatly trimmed eyebrow, the skin of his cheek dipped in a little towards the white line and near where it met his jawline it split into a fork like a snake’s tongue; the right trailing off under his jaw whilst the left veered towards his chin and stopped but a few inches from it. “The scar was not man-made.”

Roman furrowed his brows at that, turning his gaze to his companions who looked gravely at something he couldn’t see. His eyes flicked comically between the king and the last of his remaining travelling party, still not completely caught on what was being exchanged with underlying looks in the absence of words. From the looks, he could hazard a guess the scar had once been made by magic, but that left him with more questions than answers for the time being. He sat and waited, hoping an explanation would take form and when one didn’t after a minute of the three sharing a knowing, yet saddened, look he rose to his feet.

His voice was rough from disuse as he spoke, “tell me. The looks you share with one another, I do not understand. Tell me what made the scar.”

King Anwir, for all he was worth, didn’t look as stunned as Roman had thought he would be, rather he looked up at Roman with a small smile that pulled at the white line a little. He nodded in the way a parent would when a child asked a question that had an obvious answer the child was not getting, patting the bed beside him in an inviting way before returning his grasp to the crown in his lap, “magic.”

Roman choked a little, looking at Anwir with a bewildered stare, eyes widening as Anwir slowly nodded, eyes closing as he chuckled gently, “a curse some say. But the castle knows the truth, my birth was not meant to be. There are rumours it was a warning, others believe my birth was to be a curse on my family, some still believe my father had a tryst with a witch and my birth was revenge on him for such things. The truth of that matter is, I was never meant to be born in the first place. 

“My mother was barren, but bless my father and his kind heart, he had not the heart to tell his people that their queen, the woman he loved dearly, was barren and would never give them an heir to the throne. Out of what I suspect must have been either love or guilt, my mother vowed to beget a child and after riding off to many a witch she returned with a concoction. I was born quickly; my mother was given but two seasons to bear me and she did but at a cost. My scar will and forever be a reminder that my blood lies entangled with magic, as such I see no reason to cast out those who have been shunned their lives as I have. You, centaur and faun, though I did not catch your names, are welcome to stay for as long as you desire.”

There was a stunned silence, in which all the world seemed to pause whilst the wind played with the opening of the tent and raindrops splattered a soft unsteady tune on the cotton exterior. There was a soft splash and the four turned to look at an ever-forming puddle to one side of the tent, rainwater seeping through the unwaxed exterior. 

“My apologies for the conditions. Had I known we would have guests, I would have made sure the castle was vacated of all that we keep in it. As you could most likely tell from your journey through the village, while we do farm, we have not the space for the left-over supplies and we have not the people with the skills to mine the stone from around us, so containing the wheat and dry food has become something for the castle to deal with. Many of our rooms are filled with grains for when times become too harsh and the people have no food to eat. I have offered gold and barely in exchange for stone and workers from other kingdoms, but they seem to have no interest in my small kingship, and I doubt we will be free of other reigns much longer. We are small and after my letters for help, they will see our weakness and come for my throne.”

“Your majesty, if we may”, Patton began, pausing briefly if only to garner the king’s attention once more, “we may yet be of use to you, should you allow us to stay. But the most pressing matter on us at present it that of the issue of Prince Duhn. His Highness was our main priority and he is not yet dead, as you so believe.”

“But there may be no way to break the spell”, the king relayed, eyes softening as they focused on the faun, “if you have a way to break his spell, then, by all means, you are welcome to tell me he will not die. But until he is awake and able to talk, I will continue to believe he is dead. Truly, I did not believe he was dead when you brought him to me, as a man born from magic, I know of many of its properties and am wise to both curses and blessings, but without a cure or a way to break the spell he is under there is no foreseeable future in his life that does not involve death, either by starvation, dehydration or sleeping for eternity.”

The tent fell silent once more, rain growing steadily heavier as the drops of water turned to a somewhat heavy stream, the puddle seeping back out under the tent into the shower outside. It dawned then on Roman that while there may once have been a chance to break whatever spell Logan was under, there may not be a chance anymore. They had no idea what they were up against and they had not an inkling of what they needed to break the curse, so while it could take them years trying to figure it out it was possible and highly likely that Logan would die in the meantime. It brought a whole new light to their situation, one Roman had hoped to never think of, the possibility of Logan dying. The idea was getting harder to ignore, if they couldn’t get to the king and force out of him a cure or way to break the curse, Logan would eventually die. 

Roman blinked back tears, wincing at the chill of them as they slid down his face before he realised, they weren’t tears, but raindrops. Looking up he saw clouds billowing, great roiling grey masses racing above him and pelting him with cool water as the wind blew past him and chilled him to the bone. With freezing fingertips he wiped away water on his brow and took a shuddering breath, letting it get caught in his throat as he dropped his chin to his chest and stared at the mud below him, running his hand down his face until it dropped to his soaked knees and he curled over, hands digging into the dirt as if he would be ripped into the air at any moment and tossed about with no thought to his health. The fingers he’d dug into the mud below were nearly numb, a murmured buzz was running rampant through his head, no thoughts or sounds seemed to enter or exit, just the ever-present buzzing that took over all around him. 

In the back of his mind he could feel a pair of warm hands digging into his back, hot water stinging his cheeks and a vice-like grip surrounding his insides, squeezing his throat, lungs and heart in a near unbearable way. He was only vaguely aware he wasn’t breathing properly, until at last something hit him hard across the face and he slumped forward, breathing picking up immediately before calloused, warm hands gripped his cheeks. 

“Listen to me human. Look at me”, the voice was as jagged and rough as the rocks below Duhn castle, but there was an essence of gentleness to it, a fondness that rolled from their mouth and encased him like flowers. All of a sudden all he wanted to do was crawl into their embrace, hold on for dear life and let his mind sink below into the realm of the abyss. But it was not to be when the voice spoke up once more, “you need to breathe with me. Take a deep breath in and hold it, then release it slowly.”

He followed the instructions, slowly regaining his hearing and sight as he wiped away tear tracks and rubbed at his mud smeared face with equally mud smeared hands. The sound of his heartbeat caught his attention as his fingers slipped down the back of his neck to rest on his chest, pressing two to the point where his pulse was easiest to feel as he concentrated on it and continued to breathe through the pain. When at last the pain was bearable, he lifted his no longer clouded eyes to gaze upon worried hickory hues, white paint that once peeled like paperbark now lay flat, dripping down walnut cheeks like milky tears and collecting in the mud with a snail slow pace. 

Roman gripped the rain-drenched feather cloak in front of him, burying his head into a firm chest, crisscrossed with scars and painted with both mud and white paint as his lungs heaved in breath after breath of chilled air and his teeth chattered with a sorrow, unlike anything he’d felt before. It was a struggle to not tear the feathers from the cloak, hands instead turning to fists as they raised and fell gently on the centaur’s breast, scooped up after the third beat by the centaur’s own hands and pressed together as muddied carob hands pressed firmly on muddied tan skin. 

The sellsword was pulled from the ground, forced to stand as those hands pulled his own up until his feet fell flat against the uneven ground, still they held on like cuffs and chains keeping his body upright. He pulled back eventually, waiting and watching through tear clouded eyes as rain poured down, the hands on his back having retreated as both king and faun walked to stand in front of him with the still cloaked centaur. 

It took all of Roman’s strength not to run and crumple to the ground once more. He wanted to weep, to find a place and cry until he was dehydrated and starving until he was no longer able to walk but instead became part of the earth itself, becoming one with what had birthed him and seeing once more the face of the dead. He longed to see him alive once more, to see that smile he was so very rarely bestowed, to have his mettle seen and rewarded. 

And so, he ran. Stumbling through the dips and tripping until at last, he came to the doors of the castle, crawling and trailing slimy mud into the clean halls. His nails searched for purchase on the smooth, cold marble, eyes trained on the end of the hall where no guards stood, and no servants wandered. He knew what he would find there, but his heart still ached to truly feel the coldness of his hands, to see the paleness of his skin and dirty pristine burial clothing with his muddied, calloused hands. He dreaded it – passing by the many sconces with their burning lights, the great rolls of canvas tapestries with the many kings woven upon them – but he knew that if he did not reach the end of the hallway, he would dread the burning even more. 

When his first hand passed the threshold he pulled back, a feeling akin to burning leapt through the fibres of his fingers, slowly drowning the cold and setting each nerve ending on fire until a shiver wracked his body. His hand fell to the other side, over the threshold as the shaking left him, mud smearing over the clean white marble as he looked up from the floor to the bench where surrounded by a ring of golden straw and white feathers, lay the stone-cold body of the man he was supposed to keep safe. 

His eyes traced the outline of cloth covered flesh, the silver of his royal crest shone under the light of the six sconced candles, each cast a glow of orange on the many articles the prince wore. His hair was splayed, brushed and decorated with both small braids and the tiniest of blue flowers. Adorning his arms and chest were both a white undershirt, ties loose and hanging, and a dyed blue jerkin made of cloth instead of leather. Lower he was dressed in dark trousers and boots, small crowns of white flowers placed at the tips of his boots to hang over the sole. 

Roman rose from the floor, hands gripping on the stone archway as his feet slipped on polished marble, each step painful as he travelled closer to Logan’s side, hands reaching for the set that lay on the prince’s chest, ring glittering like a fresh ink stain against skin as white as snow. He looked as peaceful as a babe, not a wrinkle crossed his brow as Roman slid hands as cold as ice into his own, dropping to one knee as Logan’s left hand lay back on his chest, mud staining his clothing as Roman looked at the cold flesh in front of him, pressing his forehead into it as memories played back in his mind; the tree standing tall, an apple given out of selfless love, hands clasped tight as delight danced through two pairs of eyes. 

“I remember your face now, my prince.” The voice was choked, hoarse and scratchy as it pulled through his throat. From his taken knee he rose, slowly traversing around the bench and body after righting the hands once more. He trailed his fingers over the prince’s forehead, tangled them softly in his hair, and finally came to rest them on the ring that stained his memory with a new fear. An item he once found precious had been used to leverage his undoing and with it the undoing of one he held close. 

In a fit of intense anger, he reached for the ring, tugging at it in an attempt to pull it free from the milk-white finger, but it was firm and gripped tighter, forcing itself to stay as Roman dropped to his knees and wept. The hand in his grasp fell in front of him, limply swaying from the momentum as Roman stared at it, at the ring that refused to let the prince live. His mind whirled, broken and tormented with guilt that was not of his design, but he pressed forward both figuratively and literally, pressing his quivering lips to the ring and whispering pleas he knew it would not hear. 

As he pulled back, he felt his tears begin anew, hot as they dripped down his face and he slowly came to the realisation that he had not saved his prince, had not kept his full word, had not been able to protect and care for his childhood friend as he once had. Now he stood and looked down at the hand in his grasp, moving it back to Logan’s chest as a flood of emotions departed and all that was left was the feeling of emptiness. He stared blankly on, eyes looking at Logan’s hands and ring but not seeing until he blinked, and a set of tears dropped onto the pale skin he held. Roman pulled back, laying the hands right once more as he took one last longing look at the prince and bowed his head, walking around and fixing the hair he’d messed up as he left the room with a final look at the prince. 

He wound his way down the hall, sorrow replaced with a burning anger that for once he would utilise to his advantage. King Duhn would pay for his crime, would pay for taking the prince from them, and would pay for making Logan suffer. Thoughts raced through his mind as he splashed through the mud, wiping his face free of rain as it landed heavy blows on his cheeks and forehead. His anger building with every step as he neared the tent and flung free the opening flaps, eyes narrowing on the king with a dangerous glint. 

“Your army. They are ready?”, the question was silencing, the soft chatter that had once filled the air died down as the sellsword kept his gaze firm on Anwir, sat on his bed with Patton, Virgil resting before them as they spoke in hushed tones. The king rose from the bed, eyes searching Roman’s face with a hint of fear the sellsword refused to acknowledge. 

A single nod was gauged from the silent conversation, before Roman stalked forward and took Virgil’s shoulder in an ironclad grip, hand tight enough to bruise as he stared deep into the mismatched green and milk-white eyes, “we will go to war, now.”

There was a beat of silence before Roman turned his gaze from the king to his travelling companions, neither having raised argument over his statement. In both faces there was a subtle hint of resignation and concern, sorrow clashing with anger of their own before both met his eyes and, in a low and breathtakingly frightening voice, Patton spoke, “we know. We have been discussing the topic in depth for the past half hour. Join us.”

Roman gave the group a single nod before he dropped and sat next to the centaur, pulling his hand away to watch the king and faun slowly rise to their feet and turn to the bed, head tilted to look at something Roman couldn’t see, but soon enough Anwir lent forward and pulled closer a map dotted with the symbols of war. 

“We have been over a strategy, but we will have to move quickly. King Duhn will expect us, you were close to my castle and he is wise to such things”, the king stated, eyes heavy on the map as he drew a finger from the army towards the Duhn labelled castle by the border of the sea. Seeing it now they could discern that their time within the forest could have been shortened by taking a different route, the way around it would have been longer, but safer on the whole. 

“You wish to travel in force for a day without rest when a normal jaunt would take a three? Your men will be displeased with such a quest”, Roman said, voice rising above the silence as he studied the map more.

Anwir shook his head fondly, catching Roman’s gaze and tearing him away from the plans, “they know what awaits them and are willing to do as I ask.”

“As are we”, the soft voice of Patton said, moving like the wind as Roman turned his head to the mythical pair. Both centaur and faun now stood, looking down at him as Patton produced the gem that lit their fires and burned bright against the pale flesh of the faun’s fingers. 

The king nodded when Roman turned his face to him, “they have volunteered their services should we require them. The skill of, Virgil was it, yes Virgil has excellent skill with a quiver and bow while galloping full speed, something none of my archers have been trained for. And with such knowledge of the magical, master faun will be a most wonderful addition to the army.”

“You have my axe and sword”, Roman said, standing once to lay his hand on Anwir’s own, looking the king in his eyes to solidify his own words as the king stiffened before slowly smiling. 

“And it would seem we have our cause as well”, he said, voice filled with unshed tears as his eyes moved past Roman to the tent opening. 

Three heads swivelled to it, a gasp filling the air as eyes as glittering as the bronze gleam of his hair searched each face with a hint of a smile present on petal pink lips. The flowers were gone, boots muddied, and face flushed with exertion, but he stood in the entrance like a blessing. For a second his eyes changed, burning a blue that rivalled that of his jerkin and even surpassing the ocean and sky, deep as sapphires and cold as ice, but in a second it was gone and replaced with the warm hues they’d become accustomed to. 

“A war, I hear tell of. Yet you ride without me?”, his voice was as smooth as polished marble, silken like new fern leaves and heavy like honey, but how they had missed it. He moved in with the air of a man deprived of living, a little stiff but not from the class he had once been a part of, no his stiffness came from laying for too long. “You stare as if seeing a ghost. Does one of such nature appear behind me?”

No one had it in them to engage him, but as his eyes moved over each stunned face, they stopped on one in particular. A human face that had leaned over him and cried for him, the face of the man with whom he’d travelled the most. A neat eyebrow raised as a slightly larger smiled graced his features, walking to the sellsword with purpose and dignity. He stopped in front of Roman with a wry twist to the delicate smile he held, but nonetheless, the sellsword was broken from his trance. 

In one swift move, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head in the presence of the only one he would ever follow, “my apologies, Prince Logan.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gearing up for battle can become a tedious task, for all involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got carried away...
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be the final one, but I rambled on too much and now the final chapter will be Chapter 13 which will be out a few days after this is uploaded because I dragged this on too much and I'm so very sorry.
> 
> But, if you've read up to this far you will have most likely read the mildly gruesome descriptions from the earlier chapters, and if you did like that don't worry the next chapter will be a lot like those, by which I mean there will be gore of the optical variety. You'll find out what that means soon because the next chapter will be coming out either a day or two days after I upload this chapter.

On the top of the ridge, overlooking castle Duhn and listening to the waves of a turbulent sea that crashed into the knife sharp rocks that held the small kingdom up, stood the one who would be the kingdom’s downfall.

_____________

“You are sure that you wish to come”, Roman whispered, head tilted to the side to look down at his once charge as the prince picked at the threads of the undershirt while waiting for a few of the guards to return with the armour he would wear to battle.

With a hint of a smile and a small amount of laughter in his eyes, the prince looked up at him, “I am sure.”

“You know I cannot protect you on the battlefield.”

“I am aware. And I am not counting on you to do as such.”

There was a silence between them, both looking away from the other human and around at the surroundings. Logan’s eyes trailed over the tall pillars of Anwir’s castle, less decorated than those of his home but nonetheless useful. Roman’s eyes roamed the rest of the room, slipping down the single roll of carpet that led from the raised marble floor, down a set of stairs and out the heavy oak doors where servants bustled about in the hallways.

In the end, both looked at the door, lost in their own minds as Roman contemplated his place next to the prince, fitted out in his leather and cloth as he refused to wear the armour from Anwir’s storage. The king had offered many times, but while Virgil and Patton had taken up the offer, albeit a little hesitantly, Roman refused on all levels to partake in wearing the shining silver plates and chains. He knew it would weigh him down, and the lightness he’d grown accustomed to was worth not having a layer or two of protection. 

Slowly the sellsword’s gaze drifted to his prince, standing near the middle of the carpet as the windows of the throne room flooded the area in the intoxicating glow of sunlight. The warmth of the rays had drawn Logan to the spot where most fell on his back, warming the chilled prince in his thin undershirt, anticipation for the up and coming fight grating at his nerves. But even with the look of nervousness on his face, Roman couldn’t help but admire everything he’d come to know of the prince. It was as if he were seeing his once charge in an entirely new light, having learned that the man he had kept safe for so long was the one he had promised to keep safe all those many years ago. It could have been a coincidence, but Roman preferred to think of it as fate or a cross of the stars. 

Logan moved suddenly, stepping quickly down the stairs and moving with a hurried pace to where Anwir stood, the pair exchanging words Roman couldn’t hear from his position by the long curtains that would shield the room from light and view of the throne. He cocked his head gently, crossing his legs as he stood, arms tangled over his chest and back pressed hard against the stone wall. The royal pair looked at him, each with a soft frown of admonishment and disappointment, most likely having exchanged words over his hesitance to wear armour into the upcoming war. His lip quirked up for a moment, eye twinging as he moved his eyes from the pair to sweep the room, moving his shoulders gently and letting out a soft breath as he felt the familiar weight of his axe and the new sword he’d been given. A sword and axe were all he’d need, he knew that much. 

“Roman, you must wear some armour”, the king admonished softly, stepping closer to the sellsword as Roman bristled with uprising defiance in his chest, eyes hardening into a glare, “at least some chainmail or a pair of gauntlets.” Roman turned his head away, stubbornly refusing to look at someone he’d not respect the authority of, just like every other king he’d worked for. 

There was a clicking sound, not the same as horse or goat hooves on polished white marble, a human sound rather like a tongue. Intrigued by the sound, Roman turned his head back, eyes taking in his once charge as a barely noticeable smile tilted Logan’s mouth upward, seemingly smug he had gotten Roman’s attention but wise not to show it. The pair exchanged a long look; Roman’s part withering glare, part stubborn pout and Logan’s a mixture of smugness and glee. He knew he’d caught Roman, guard down as the prince made him, and he knew Roman would cave in at Logan’s request. 

With a slight boiling of anger at himself and resignation over Logan’s silent request he could not deny, he turned his head back to a very confused looking king, “I will wear a gauntlet and vambrace on my sword arm, but that is all.”

At his words, both king and king to be shared a look of delight before Anwir stepped quickly down the stairs and let fly a whistle. The reaction of the servants would always amaze Roman, three yellow and black draped figures rushing in with two buckets and three pairs of chainmail spread between them, each looking at their king with hesitation and concern. With the errands they already seemed to have, it was a wonder they’d responded the way they had, but with a few quick instructions delivered from the man in black and gold, they left and scurried off to fulfil their many errands. 

With that done, Anwir turned and bid them farewell, entering the hallways and quickly being accosted by a great many servants and guards, all wishing their questions to be answered first. It was rather comical to watch the king dance around them, attempting to move through the throng of people that had swarmed him, not allowing him to pass while he tried to duck, weave and squirm through the clamour, intent on reaching somewhere that wasn’t so crowded he could barely move. Roman had to withhold the chuckle that threatened to escape him at the sight of the great king Anwir, forced to silently beg his people to let him pass. 

It was the sort of sight that may once have made Roman chuckle, the absurdity of the situation wherein a king – so proud and dignified – would be reduced to a silent participant, forced to bend to the will of his subjects in such a way that he could not make a move without disturbing a delicate balance. Though thinking about it, the sellsword supposed that the display was more or less the norm for any king, bowing to the wills of their subjects, though in this case it was seen more than it would be in any other situation. 

A soft sigh drew his attention to the prince, shoulders dipping a little in a relaxed pose before brown eyes swivelled to Roman, looking him over with tenderness to his normally stony gaze. That was what got Roman to push off his wall and move towards his once charge, left alone to once again confront their memories of one another before they were interrupted. 

Their first moment of regaling each other with their childhood memories had sparked sorrowful emotions within the sellsword, namely an acute sadness that mingled with happiness to give a kind of giddy and dizzy feeling that left Roman reeling, tears welling up against his wishes as he was offered the iron ring he once made for the blurry boy in his memories. He was not the only one to grow dewy-eyed at the recounting of memories, but while his own grew to tears that soon cascaded down his cheeks, the one person he’d had to leave so long ago merely held him with red-rimmed eyes, a few tears shed for their time apart and for the parting itself but the picture of composure in comparison to the sellsword.

Logan traversed the span of the room with a hastened pace. The sounds of the arguing and agreeing growing in volume, even as the king moved away from the room and down the hallway towards the armoury, cut short by the closing of the doors as Logan leaned heavily on his outstretched arms, palms planted on the heavy double monstrosities of oak wood painted black and carved with a fine gold detailing. If Roman had been in the mood, he may have looked closer at the large fixtures, trailed his hands across the delicate carvings and the additions of the gold that must have cost a small fortune to procure and even more to be set into the wood, but he was not in the mood and unfortunately found the sight of the prince leaning so heavily on the doors an unnerving sight. 

“You are ready?”, Roman asked, voice reverberating around the room even though he spoke softly, lest he scare the prince with a brash and loud question. 

Logan straightened and turned to him, and though they were far from one another, the sellsword could see the blazing of determination and anger in his eyes. The prince nodded once, the best non-vocal confirmation he could give should his voice betray him, and stalked towards the stairs, clambering up them two at a time to Roman’s side before looking back, facing the doors head on as his jaw worked slowly, clenching and unclenching his teeth with a dazed and faraway look. 

Roman turned his eyes back to the doors as well, it would do them no good to try and talk to one another when nothing could be said. They had made each of their feelings for the upcoming battle clear and, though the blood bath was yet to come, there was a nauseous feeling that neither could shake. Should they try to speak, they knew they may break down. Without another to keep them stable, the pair would collapse in on one another until all that remained was a pile of emotions and a pool of tears. Neither wanted the outcome, but the battle plans had been made and now there was no going back. 

With that thought though came the sound of shouting from outside the door and something akin to a stampede of hooves racing against marble flooring. The sound was cut short by a loud bang on the door before it was beaten open and from around the splinter ridden floor and the busted door came what they had expected; a frustrated and angry centaur, followed closely by a faun who merely wanted to console the poor creature. 

“Human armour. It is like leaves against my skin”, Virgil growled, stamping towards the stairs before beginning to pace back and forth in closed circles, “they would have me wear leaves.”

Patton, ever the mediator, attempted and failed to appease the other, “I know it is not our armour, but it is their armour.”

The loud angry yell that followed that was enough to make all but Patton flinch back, both Logan and Roman looking on with concern and worry as Virgil began anew, “leaves and twigs. Their armour is akin to leaves and twigs. I will not wear parchment into battle, misa n va.”

“Hold your tongue, young centaur”, came a short and very frustrated reply. Patton gave the centaur an admonishing glare that forced the half horse to tilt his head to the ground, avoiding eye contact with the other mythical creature. With that, the faun turned to the human pair sighing gently, “I sincerely apologise for the anger and disgraceful behaviour. He is correct that your armour is thin in comparison to what we used to wear into battle. In the forest, while we had no need for it, we were gifted with armour much thicker and many times more durable than what your human blacksmiths have made for us to wear. We thank you for the offer, nonetheless, but we must decline your charity.”

“Surely you do not expect me to send you into battle without armour, it is out of the question to send you into a war against heavily armed opponents with nothing to protect yourselves.”

“Your majesty, for all intents and purposes, my skin is much tougher than you may believe it to be, but I will request that you, Virgil, both watch your tongue and wear the human armour. You are not healed well enough to do battle without it”, Patton said, turning from Logan to Virgil and looking the centaur up and down, eyes targeting the tightly wrapped cloth drenched in a concoction for wound healing, “your arm will not be well enough for battle, that much is clear, but that means you must wear both a rerebrace and pauldron and I will have no exceptions.”

“I do not need such things. I am a centaur, I am no knight, nor sir, nor squire, nor human. Human armour is weak, and I will not be forced into wearing something that will impede my progress in battle.”

“Their armour may be weak, but you have not yet healed. A rerebrace and pauldron will keep you from opening your injury. You cannot fight wounded.”

“I will fight how I please.”

“You will wear armour, or you will not fight at all, do I make myself clear Veresima.”

For a second the squabbling pair quietened, silenced by their own thoughts and the argument. Neither dared look at the other, eyes wandering in opposite directions before the clearing of a throat made both look to the sellsword and prince. 

“Could you, perhaps, explain some of the language you used. You speak the common tongue, but this other language sounded much like gibberish to my ears”, Logan said slowly, descending the stairs with Roman trailing behind him, nearly colliding with the prince when he suddenly stopped a few feet from the half-human duo. 

“My apologies, your majesty, that was our mother tongue”, Patton quickly explained, looking from Logan and Roman to Virgil and back again when he was met with a glare of betrayal, “it is not complicated to understand, but it is not for outsider ears. You must understand that it was the tongue of our forebearers and ancestors. It was kept secret from all but those in the forest.”

“I understand. Then it is my order for you both, as your prince, to return from battle and teach it to the next of kin from your forest”, the prince said, smiling gently as the pair looked at one another. 

They shared a secretive glance before Patton’s gaze returned to Logan with a sad smile, “we may not be able to follow your order, I am afraid.”

“Cannot or will not?”, the sellsword questioned, looking over Logan’s shoulder at Patton, curious eyes meeting tired ones.

“Cannot. We are the last of our kind. At the end of our life there will be no more”, Virgil said, looking away from the group and towards the corner of the room. 

“Yet you join us.”

“Of course, your majesty, we will die regardless but, in this way, we will honour the death of the falcon, and perchance we will be able to do a noble thing before we become dust.”

“Nonsense and poppycock if I ever heard of it.” Each head turned to look at the tired man that stood in the doorway, kicking splinters of black and gold painted wood out of his way. Robes gone, and dressed in full armour, crest emblazoned on his breast in ebony and sunshine as Anwir moved forward, making a clattering with every step that drowned out a soft snickering made by the king himself, “you will survive, and you will fight for yourselves.”

“Anwir. You are right; however, and therefore I rescind my order for you”, Logan said, a soft smile working its way onto his face as the king clattered further into the room and to Virgil’s side, the centaur backing away at the loud noise. 

“Right then, Roman, sellsword, your gauntlet and vambrace.” The offered pieces of armour were produced from a covering cloth and shone silver in the light of the sun, rays of gold dancing off the polished surface as Roman took the vambrace and gauntlet, slowly wrapping the straps around his left wrist and arm, flexing his grip once it was properly in place. A pair of snakes met head-on, twisting around one another and biting down on the neck of their opposite over the wrist, an impractical detail but a beautiful one regardless. The price for such armour would be high and Roman would forever treasure the chance to wear something of such high quality. 

“May I request a set of pauldrons and rerebraces for Virgil, your highness?”, the faun asked, gesturing to the centaur and looking at their host with a small yet questioning smile, to which the king gave him a small bow and a nod. 

With this underway, Roman took a few steps back, taking a seat on the second stair as his fingers glided over the metal, stopping over the snakes and rubbing each head gently as if afraid they would shatter under his touch. They seemed too delicate to be placed on a piece of armour, too detailed to not have the heart of their smithy put into them. If they were to break off during battle, would the blacksmith feel the loss?

“You are enamoured by Anwir’s snakes”, a low voice rumbled from beside Roman, the sellsword nearly lashed out, eyes blazing with surprise as he tumbled off the steps onto the ground, gauntlet and vambrace making a loud rattling against the marble floor. Logan peered down at Roman from the steps, face held in his hands as his eyebrows lowered in confusion. 

At the sight of his childhood friend looking so imploringly worried, Roman leapt to his feet, ready to still the concern that seemed to only build at his sudden movement, challenged only by surprise. For a moment neither dared speak, gazes interrupted only by a chuckle from the door and the soft beat of hooves leaving their vicinity. Alone once more and without the comfort of a fortified conversation, the duo looked back at one another; one standing tall and stiff, the other a little less so. It was strange to think that years ago they had once been closer than friends, and yet now they stood fully grown men in the face of a battle with not a word to say to one another. 

There was a soft thumping sound, Roman’s eyes drawn to the piece of carpet beneath Logan’s hand, the soft rhythmic thump of a hand landing on carpet dulling the tingling of his nerves only slightly. He took the silent offer to sit, looking down at the twin snakes once more before moving his arm towards the prince. 

The royal expelled a gentle huff as thin fingers danced over the cool metal that encased Roman’s lower arm and hand, stopping where Roman’s had not moments before to deftly trace the finest of scales on the snakes, a detail Roman had not seen before that now became more obvious as the finger made quick work of tracing them all the way up to the head of the snake. He’d thought the work fine before, but now seeing such detailing he knew the vambrace and gauntlet had been made with the intention of someone with higher standing to wear it, perhaps the previous king or Anwir himself. Whatever the case may be that forced Anwir to gift him such a prestigious honour, he would be sure to offer his most sincere thanks once the king returned. 

There was a knock on the broken doors, shattering the precious silence between the friends before the one who knocked stumbled in, armour loose around their body as they motioned for the pair to frantically follow. A glance was shared between them before they hurried after the armoured warrior, still tightening straps of leather as they ran through the now eerily quiet halls, the sound of armour and the clattering of metal on marble the only thing to be heard above their own fast breathing. 

From the hallway, they burst into the courtyard, muddied ground awash with quickly gearing up warriors, a frantic king followed by both centaur and faun as he ran about giving orders. A crackle of thunder earned the attention of both prince and sellsword, their guide leaving them to race after their liege as the pair watched the battlements, looming darkness trickling streaky fingers through grey clouds above. Without a second thought, Roman ran, easily making it to the top of the walls, hands clenching stone as his eyes trailed over their road to salvation. In the distance, great plumes of something dark and evil swirled into the sky lazily. It was too dark for smoke or clouds, too wicked for anything other than the darkest of magic. Duhn was waiting for them, he was letting them know that he knew they were on their way, so their plan to take him unaware was trampled. 

Rounding back to the way he’d come, the sellsword nearly ran into his charge, hands coming up to clasp Logan’s shoulders as the prince looked out over the tops of the walls to his once home. Roman didn’t dare a look at the prince’s face, pulling Logan into him as he ran for the stairs, dragging his once charge down to the ground where a multitude of warriors rose with armour and weapons in hand. Some already collected at the portcullis, a few splitting off and collecting at the bottom of the hill. By the time Roman had found Anwir, still having dragged the prince around behind him, many of the soldiers had made their way to the bottom of the hill, awaiting instruction.

It took one nod and glare to send Roman off to the side, Anwir taking hold of Logan as the prince was led away, the sellsword dashing towards where both centaur and faun were resituating their cloaks. 

“We are to march on. With such magic in the air, I fear we may be too late”, Patton said, voice soft but unyielding as Roman pulled out his gloves, abandoning one in their tent before reequipping his sword, daggers and axe to his person and following both mythical creatures out through the portcullis. 

There was a beat of silence between the three. “Roman, tell me something, what is the age of our prince?”

The sellsword glanced at both Virgil and Patton before adding up the summers in his head. They had been young when he had left, only a mere fourteen summers old, and the prince had been five summers younger than he, so at present if Logan were but five summers shy of himself. “Twenty-nine summers, but his name day would have been a few days ago, so that would make him thirty summers old.”

“I see”, the darkness in Patton’s words momentarily stunned Roman, but he forgot it as soon as the three stopped, now standing in the front lines of the small army where the sounds of chatter were low and the thunder above them rang like a blacksmith’s workshop, loud and repetitive. 

And then the rain began, soft at first, but soon a downpour raged over them, rain smattering armour with the tempest winds and a pounding, driving force that nearly swept them off their feet. But they held firm as two figures stepped up, side by side on a set of horses.  
From where he stood Roman could barely make out both figures, but as he shielded his eyes with his now drenched cloak, he saw a glint of silver and black. 

“My loyal warriors, today we must travel fast for our lands may never return to how they once were with such a downpour. If we do not arrive at the castle of King Duhn by nightfall we may never be able to retrieve what we have spent so long working for. So, on this day I ask of you your allegiance, your loyalty, your hope. On this day we will drive from our lands a heart of dark magic and dethrone a king who should never have been crowed.”

The strength of the wind died down as a resounding cheer was released. The sellsword watched Anwir for a few more seconds before his gaze drifted to the seated man next to him; silver armour glinting with each bolt of lightning, eyes steel hard and mouth set in a firm line of determination. Logan looked the picture of a king atop his horse, well-fitted armour emblazoned with the crest of the Duhn castle over his left breast. Roman was so lost in through he didn’t feel the movement of the army until Logan had turned his horse towards the castle of his father, towards their enemy, and begun the walk forward with Anwir.

_____________

With the help of a shortcut through the forest, they stood atop a ridge that overlooked the castle they would soon be the downfall to. Logan breathed out harshly as the darkness that swirled from the castle and bore forth ink dark clouds in the sky was jolted by a bolt of lightning.

The forest had not been kind to their numbers, already leaving them with a little over nine-tenths of what they had begun with, but now at the precipice of a battle, Logan hoped the total bloodshed would not be any greater. From here he knew the plan would go as according; he would sneak past all the carnage and end his father’s reign once and for all. It would be a moment he would rejoice in, but he hoped when faced with his father’s life he would choose the right option. 

“You think too much of our battle to come”, came a harsh voice, one that Logan knew too well to jump at. He hummed gently, the soft sound radiating out from him as he turned to face the sellsword, tucking a few strands of loose hair back and frowning as they quickly made their way back to his eyes. 

Roman chuckled to his left, low and deep but friendly nonetheless, fingers catching the strands and tucking them back, holding them there until the wind finally died down. After batting the fingers away from him, Logan set about smoothing out the unruly hairs. “How can one not think of such a battle.”

“Well, one could perhaps think of something else. Perchance something with a more jovial tone”, the sellsword offered, watching with mirth as Logan struggled with his hair, finally giving up after a minute or so of stroking and patting down the oak strands. 

With a sigh, both turned their gaze to the castle once more, insides growing cold at the thought of what would come the next day. Though while Logan’s hands twitched, dropping to his sides as they slowly curled into fists, Roman’s hands fiddled with the hilt of a small dagger – the same one that had been once raised to him by his childhood friend. The tiny pummel had been polished, as had the blade once it had been sharpened from hilt to deadly point. 

Taking a short glance at the prince, the sellsword’s eyes softened, the hardened face of Prince Logan Duhn, soon to be king, staring out towards his father’s castle with unwavering determination. And yet, “here, my prince.”

At the noise Logan turned, not expecting what he next saw. On one knee, the sellsword knelt, hands raised in front of him clutching a dagger hilt and scabbard. It would seem the ring was not the only gift to be given to the prince, but with the knowledge of Roman’s stubbornness from the past week – their travels through the many forests and the actions the sellsword had taken on the many occasions danger had risen up to face them – Logan took the dagger slowly, hands encircling the scabbard first before bending to his knees to take the hilt and hand of his friend.

“I accept”, came the soft reply as thunder crackled and lightning lit up the sky with a ferocious and dangerous light, “I expect you will want your dagger back, though.”

“I would have it no other way, your majesty.”

“Then”, a loud rumble made both pause, breath halted as a single strike of white light hit a tree close to the burned village, “I will be sure to return it to you.”

The thunder rumbled on above, rain kept at bay by the dark magic of the castle’s occupant. Meanwhile, twin storms brewed in darkened eyes, a silent promise made atop the ridge as the lightning brandished bolts and sent them to the earth below.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle begins and closes with a prince, a sellsword, a centaur and a faun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. That's it I am done, the fic is finished, woohoo...
> 
> Right then, housekeeping; the fic is officially over. It took too much out of me right now to even think of doing an epilogue, so if I ever do an epilogue it will be at a later date. 
> 
> Because I listened to theses whilst typing this out, I thought it might be nice if you could have some background music if you're into that sort of thing. If you are, I recommend either "Your God Is Dead" by Really Slow Motion or "The Battle" by Harry Gregson-Williams for the battle scenes through to the end of that, and for the ending (roughly about the third break with a line) "Reborn" by Really Slow Motion (or "Courage and Kindness" by Patrick Doyle). You will see why I recommended them if you listen to them and read at the same time, but I honestly just suggest listening to "Reborn" by itself because it's really nice and well orchestrated. 
> 
> Anyway, this'll be up a few days after the 12th chapter so I will say, I preemptively wrote and saved this as a draft before I uploaded the 12th. If you commented on the last chapter about an issue, I may not have had time to change it in this chapter so, yeah. 
> 
> Final things before you read this, I did enjoy this up to a point, and then things got in the way and it became a bit of a drag to pour through every time I wanted to write a new chapter. But when I did get excited about a chapter it came out like this one; in other words, really long. I mean not long by my standards, but it's longer than most of my other chapters have been in the past so you may get a little bored halfway through, my apologies. 
> 
> This does have a bit of gore in it, not much but if you have a very strong aversion to anything involving the face or eyes you may want to skip some parts of this chapter. 
> 
> Now that's all over, have fun, enjoy the chapter and I will see you in the next work. Thank you for all your support <3

Anwir was shouting out to his warriors. A speech of no doubt epic proportions that Virgil couldn’t be bothered to listen to as he once again tried to settle both his nerves and the armour that did not suit nor fit him right. Patton had attempted to help in that regard, but no amount of balm or leaves could make the itching and tight feeling stop. So, Virgil was left to wallow in the painful knowledge that he couldn’t do anything to soothe his body as the pauldrons and rerebraces pinched at his skin, too tight around his wounded arm. 

Patton had reapplied the solution to heal his arm, but the wound didn’t seem to be getting any better as the sellsword’s had. The single round puncture wound from the Arania he’d fought had steadily been healing and had made much progress in the past few days with the aid of Patton’s magical medicines. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the relatively small wound in Virgil’s arm, whether it be because he had grown a tolerance for the salve or because his wound was fresher than the sellsword’s remained to be seen. 

A loud sound pierced the air, drawn out and low like the call of an animal, but from his vantage point slightly above the rest of the warriors, Virgil could see the horn of a ram retreating from Anwir’s lips, a signal for the battle to begin. And with that he watched as the archers grew in number, filling out the front lines with ease as the troops began the march down the slope towards the village. His own hooves carried him along with them, Patton at his side as the firestone burned bright in the faun’s hands. 

The next few minutes were torturous, an elongated walk through the burnt-out husk of a village; blackened wood trampled under the feet of warriors and even more so under Virgil’s own hooves. The feeling was something he could have gone without, trampling small pieces of charcoal into a thin powder, but he refused to allow Anwir’s men to shoe him. The process, while not painful – apparently – did look so and the idea of having his legs restrained as nails were driven into his hooves did not bode well in the slightest. They’d attempted, but at his behest and Patton’s, Anwir saw them off with a wave. It was bad enough the centaur was forced to wear the armour of humans, but he would not condone the shoeing of his hooves, no matter how it may have helped him. 

So, he walked on, shouldering the smidgins of disgust as he stepped on a particularly large piece of burnt wood and felt it fall away under his weight. Almost shuddering in his cloak, he soldiered on and tugged gently on the feathers to loosen the tight knots of anxiety that formed and tightened with every step, the swirling dark clouds growing closer as the husk of a village ebbed into a plain or darkened grass, dead from the heat and populated by large puddles of mud that splashed as the warriors ahead of him stepped in them, not minding how they coated the inside of their boots with the slippery substance and dirtied their undergarments with dark water. Virgil didn’t refuse to step in the puddles, he had done so on many occasions when the rain in the forest had been at a high and the ground was a mud pit from end to end, but something in him squeezed with a modicum of pure repugnance at the mere thought of planting his hooves in the puddles, sticking back for a few seconds if only to gain enough room to step over the puddle instead of in it.

A gentle tug at his cloak summoned his attention from what was underfoot to the person beside him; Patton looking up at him with concerned eyes. His hand loosened from the cloak, opening and facing palm upwards in an inviting way. It took all of Virgil’s strength not to grab it the second it was offered, instead slowly taking the hand as cautiously as he could, relaxing once they made contact and Patton massaged the back of his hand, both falling into step with one another as they had done countless times. 

After a second of walking with Patton by his side he realised that the people ahead of them were slowing, finally stopping at a point where they would still have a good way to go, if Virgil had to guess based on the oak trees from his forest – roughly four of those felled and placed end to end, would fit between them and the entrance to the castle. It would take them a while to cross the distance, but at a decent pace and with enough energy it would take less than five minutes to run the distance and be at the gate, perhaps a little slower with the armour all the humans wore, but still a relatively short distance if jogging. 

The hand in his own loosened before being removed completely, catching Virgil off guard and pulling him from his thoughts as Patton pushed forward through the masses of warriors towards the front lines. For a second Virgil was tempted to walk after him, to join the faun where he now stood with the archers, but a second later he dismissed the thought, they’d been over the plan and he was to stay where he was. His body was too big to fit through the soldiers, and he’d be an easy target to aim for if he was where the human archers were, better to stay in the back and hope his own arrows hit their mark. 

Virgil drew in a shaky breath, gripped the curved wood, pulling back up to sit in both of his hands as one wrapped around the grip and the other thumbed the string. His quiver was full, each arrow fletching made of two black feathers from his cloak, one from Patton’s cloak, and painted with the same white paint that he had once again adorned his face with. The quiver was made of the same leather as every other archer, though the strap had been loosened a little to allow the centaur to fit it over his shoulder and cloak properly, and he had used the same paint to mark it; swirling patterns decorating the casing and hopefully bestowing the same protective charms he’d been told of by his elders. 

A loud rumble sounded from above and Virgil’s eyes darted to the sky for a second before he turned them back to the front lines, watching with a modicum of pride as Patton took his firestone and blew on it gently, igniting it as he held it out, quickly racing down the line of archers as each arrow tip caught ablaze until he reached the end and stepped to the side, waiting for instruction. Anwir raised his arm as the archers loaded the fire-tipped arrows, the tar that kept the fire on them slowly melting. The arm descended at the same second the archers let the arrows fly and for a second the sky was filled with dozens upon dozens of small orange lights, soaring ever closer to the walls of Duhn castle before they disappeared over the battlements and the sky went dark once more. 

There was no retaliation at first, but finally the first of many soldiers appeared from the gates, dark suits of armour marching out in a wave as over the battlements an orange glow seemed to grow ever stronger. Within a half second the soldiers stopped and the flames of one of the fire-tipped arrows spilled out into the sky above. The flames licked the clouds, dancing around the dark tornado that continued to curl ink dark fingers into the clouds and send thunder racing through the sunless world. 

Anwir blew his horn once more as Patton raced back down the line of archers and at long last Virgil pulled his bow to the ready. The second wave of fire-tipped arrows was met with the same resistance as before, but this time the soldiers began filing out again, forming a long barrier around the castle before them, continuing to march in place as the fire raged behind them and their numbers continued to fill out. Then, finally, a loud, cacophonous roar filled the air; sending many of the warriors tumbling into one another, but Virgil stood strong. 

The enemy was ready for them.

_____________

Logan lost himself when the battle began. Not completely, but enough to not remember how he ended up with little to no wounds and having made it from the battlefield outside the castle gates to the inner halls of his once home.

Inside the cold halls of endless dark windows and pinpricks of abandoned, smouldering sconces, Logan’s footsteps echoed the loudest, even with the fighting going on outside the castle. It was as if the darkness that swirled forth from the castle was encasing it, blocking both light and noise from his father and creating a silent kingdom with a dangerous snake at its head. And Logan was here to cut the head from that snake, to burn the carcass and to rid the castle of the stench of evil that seemed to permeate the walls; to be fair it reminded him of the quests Roman used to propose when they were younger, but instead of his larger and much more battle ready friend taking the lead, it was the scrawny prince who’d been locked up for a good twenty summers with little to no way to train and no battle prowess whatsoever. 

Swallowing his fears, Logan stopped in front of the partially open doors to the throne room, peeking around the wood to get a look at what he was to be facing. The room was much the same as he remembered it, but a lot drearier and more decayed than he recalled. There were some new features along with the various holes and stains on the red carpet, mainly the four large statues that stood either side of the throne, veins of grey running through the cloudy white of the marble armour they wore. They seemed the most pristine and well-kept of the items in the throne room. 

Creeping in through the doors Logan noticed something that had prior to his peeking had not caught his eye; a pile of tiny jagged stones lying where the throne would have once stood, the foot of the throne that once was an immaculate piece of square stone was now chipped and crisscrossed with cracks. The gems that had once stood as a sign of wealth within the throne were missing from the mound of rubble, the metal casings they occupied while in the throne empty and void of the glittering jewels. 

Casting his eyes to each side as caution and nerves overtook everything else, Logan took his first step forward onto the old carpet, making sure to mask his steps with the once plush mass that echoed wealth and royalty. His every step was silenced as he walked towards the destroyed throne, inching around a few loose pieces of stone and the many holes in the carpet as his eyes landed on the marble statues to the right, following them up to where the darkness seemed more prevalent, where he knew his father would be. 

His hand reached for the hilt of his sword, hovering gently over the pummel before lacing his fingers down it and around the leather coated metal as his feet passed around the mass of broken stone and metal, taking careful steps as he looked around room once more before ascending the small set of stairs to a circular room that must be a new addition. The circular room had a dip to it in the very middle, a smaller circular pool sat waiting like a puddle of ink as the light of four sconces caught the black substance with an ethereal golden glow. Something about the puddle set Logan off, but he refused to let it consume him, tearing his eyes away as he quickly looked from the pool to the rest of the room and felt the nervousness kick the inside of his stomach like a bucking horse. To the far left on one wall, a large platter was being held by a cloaked stone statue with milk white marble eyes, two dishes sat on the platter a few inches apart, each made of crystal and rounded around the edges with some sort of milk-water solution sitting in them. Logan shook his head, turning to the right side of the room where a long slab of metal reflected everything with a tint of silver, though in the light of the torches it was more golden than anything. 

It took a few seconds for Logan to relax, eyes finding the window opposite him where the darkness waited outside. His father was nowhere to be seen in the throne room, and that did not bode well for them. Turning on his heel, the prince took one step before he heard a squelching sound, like water being rung from thick cloth. The near whiplash of his head turning back to the centre of the room didn’t amount to anything as from the dark liquid a body began to form. The head came first, rising out of the ink dark solution with a crown of black, the liquid almost tar-like as it moved in a slow, sludgy way down the slowly forming figure. Logan was in shock, so much so he couldn’t think to bring his sword up as the figure finally made a full appearance, head turned towards the window as the tar substance slithered down in large, heavy droplets, splattering onto the rim of the pool before the figure moved, taking one step out of the pool as the tar followed like a cloak made of darkness. 

Logan finally caught himself when the figure placed a hand to the window, the sludge slowly revealing pale flesh as it receded and began to move down the body, trailing back to the pool as if alive. The prince took two steps back, in his haste not realising what was being him and catching himself just in time to not fall onto his back, but not enough that he managed to stop a stone from tumbling down the stairs and into the pile that remained of the throne. 

The figure, now almost completely cleaned of the liquid, didn’t turn but they did speak. “Logan, my boy, have you come to give your father what he wishes for?”

Logan stiffened at the question, remembering all the time lost due to his father and all the trouble he’d caused with his magic. His hand took to the hilt of his sword, drawing it with a soft hiss and pointing it at his father, not ready for battle but ready to take on the monster that imprisoned him all those years ago.

“I see”, his father’s low voice said, still facing the window as Logan readied his body for what was to come, “you are ever childish, my son.”

“I am no longer your son.” The rage that had been building ever since Logan escaped was beginning to seep through the cracks of his heavily fortified internal walls. At the very least he hadn’t been so angry as to lose himself and attempt to use that rage on his father while his father had not yet drawn his own sword, he may be an unarmed opponent, but his father was not to be underestimated. 

“You will always be my son, until your death”, the king wheezed out, his voice only partially there as he seemed distracted, one hand coming to rest on the small of his back whilst the other picked at something on the window, coming away and clasping the hand on his father’s back before the king slowly turned to him with a slight smile, looking Logan up and down in a way that sent a shiver up the prince’s spine. 

It was at that point the doors slammed open, Logan’s attention and his father’s caught momentarily on those that entered their battlefield. The first to race in was Roman, axe drawn and blood seeping from a cut on his cheek, vambrace and gauntlet gone from his arm and hand. Behind him Patton whirled through the doors, cloak fluttering in the breeze he created as is spectacles rested in one hand, cracked and broken in a similar fashion to his nose, a trickle of blood running from both his nose and lip as he almost barrelled headfirst into Roman. Roman had stopped, eyes caught on the prince who gave him a swift nod, eyes landing on his father once more as the sound of hooves echoed through the hallways and Virgil limped in, thighs and shoulders of his lower body painted with blood, the crimson had faded in some places but there were still small wounds littering the horse body and torso of the centaur.

“You are outnumbered, father. I will spare you a painful death if you kneel and surrender quietly”, Logan said, taking a step forward with renewed confidence, but that wore thin when his father looked at the three behind him, still in the centre of the throne room, and merely waved his hand in a small gesture. 

“I believe it is you, who are outnumbered”, his father mused as a cracking resounded through the castle. Logan turned back and stared in horror and disbelief as four marble statues advanced on the trio, marble armour stronger than swords or arrows at this point as magic coursed deep through grey veins. Without a second thought, Logan turned back to his father and launched his sword forward, catching the king off guard for once and making him start back as the sword landed squarely in his abdomen. 

For a mere second Logan hoped it would be enough, but as his father pulled the sword from his abdomen and the statues continued their advance whilst the three tried to fight them off bravely, Logan knew it would take more than a sword to kill his father. He dodged as his own sword was flung back at him, clattering into the stone floor as he danced out of reach around the pool, circling it with his father on the other side, robes trailing as they moved with slow, deliberate steps. Their eyes connected in a heated gaze as a chilling smiled crept of his father’s face, eyes going manic with the glint of the flaming sconces only amplifying the terror Logan buried deep within him at the sight. 

The prince decided enough was enough a few seconds later, launching across the pool at his father right as a battle cry was released from the throne room, the sound of something hitting the marble hard, spurring Logan on as his hands collided with his father’s shoulders, coming up to press one down against the king’s temple as if to crush it against the stone floor. But he loosened his grip the second he heard a scream. 

He leapt up in time to see the marble statue pull its arm back from Virgil’s now badly broken left hind leg. There was no blood, but the cry of outrage from Patton, as he was quickly restrained by a statue, and Virgil’s own harrowed cry was enough to distract Logan from his personal battle, enough that his father gained the upper hand and slammed Logan into the stone floor, knocking his head against the bricks below and pulling him up again by his hair, trailing paperwhite fingers over the blood that ran from the new gash on Logan’s head. Logan had one second to cry out before he was lifted into the air, strong hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing it as he gurgled out insults and gasps for air. His vision began to grow spotty, black dots dancing over the ceiling before he felt his body grow limp, succumbing to the instinct to play dead before something prodded at his left eye.

He couldn’t see anything, hear anything, but he remembered right before he was hauled into the air and strangled a pair of eyes similar to his own staring back at him with fear as a pair of white marble arms restrained him. His only wish before pain ripped through him, something pushing behind his eyes as everything he knew was thrown out of the window, was that they would make it out alive.

_____________

The sound of his scream would haunt Roman for the rest of his days. He’d never wished so much that he could help someone as he watched the prince struggle in his father’s hands, one hand coming up to his eye and digging in. A strong force rippled out of the prince in waves, pounding against the glass windows until they shattered and the marble statues holding them cracked a little, pieces of grey veined stone falling off as hairline fractures spread like lightning over the arms below his face. He couldn’t look away though, no matter how hard he tried, forced to watch as if under a curse as the occasional rivulet of blood escaped as the optic nerve of the eye followed the round ball out. The eye was plucked and pulled until the nerve snapped in two and all that was left was a now empty socket, dark as the void.

With one down, Logan didn’t stop screaming, body jerking under his father’s ministrations, even as the hand around his throat constricted, screaming turning to gurgling and spluttering as he tried to breathe under the crushing strength. The next eye resulted in a far less powerful scream, one cut off into a whimper as both of his precious prince’s eyes rested in the hand of his father. Now that his purpose was done with, the king dropped his son to the ground, traversing the circular room to a stone cloaked figure, dropping the eyes onto what appeared to be a platter with two small crystal bowls on it. 

Roman looked down at his feet, feeling his stomach turn end over end as his chest became tighter, soft whimpers and groans of pain echoing throughout the room as light streamed in from the windows, the darkness above receding as the king’s attention rested on a large span of silver. The sellsword’s eyes made a quick trip up the stairs to where he’d seen Logan, the now eyeless prince, laying in pain, but where he once was there was an empty space until Roman saw him; the prince crawling his way towards the platter at an agonisingly slow pace until one hand found the wall. With shaking legs, the prince slowly stood, resting hard against the wall as his breathing softened and shallowed, listening as the only sound in the room became the soft chant of his father. 

A second passed before the king, with quaking legs, made his way back to the platter, not stopping to check as Logan crawled under the platter and Roman praised his tactics even while blind; the glint of his dagger a bright light of salvation in the gloom of the loss of Logan’s vision. King Duhn cackled in front of the platter, placing a hand to his face and turning to the three. Roman flinched back in disgust at the sight of empty eye sockets, gaping holes where there should be none that poured a steady stream of ebony liquid, the king’s face turning gaunt as his cheeks hollowed out, skin paper thin and teeth a rotted yellow. 

“How long have I been waiting for your eyes, dear son of mine”, came the raspy voice of a man who sounded at the door of death. A rattling sound was produced as he let out a breath, turning back to the platter and dipping his hands into the solution to produce Logan’s eyes. Roman couldn’t watch the next second of what was to come, but knew from the horrified gasp of their centaur what must be happening, assumptions proved correct when he turned his gaze back to the king in time to see him blink rapidly and turn to the group, a pair of new eyes planted in the once empty sockets. 

At that second the king let out a grunt of surprise and Roman felt his heart lighten ever so slightly as the king dropped to his knees, black blood pooling around him as he was turned onto his back, Logan sitting atop him as his dagger drove down into the king’s stomach, then up higher into his father’s chest, cutting off a cackle as he slumped forward and drove the dagger deep into the king’s heart. The king ceased to move after that, a hand falling away from his chest covered in rich red blood, splashing the black blood as his life drained out of him. 

Logan rolled off of his father and Roman went to cheer, stopping as he saw blood, crimson red and flowing evenly, descend in rivulets from Logan’s chest, eyes clamped tightly shut as his skin began to pale once more. And though Roman could think of one hundred excuses as to why he wanted the prince to live, none of them could be mustered into his mind as the single train of thought raced through his mind. The prince coughing into his hand as he slumped forward in the pool of black blood.  
Roman, sure that the prince would die, allowed his eyes to shed tears stopping only when Patton gasped out wetly, “stop moving.”

Atop the stairs, eyes closed, hands digging into the crevices of the stone floor, Logan crawled. The sellsword shifted violently in the grip of the marble statue, watching as with every tug and pull Logan drew closer to the large mirror on the other side, red stains marring his clothing and armour as he drew ever nearer to the mirror. 

Roman didn’t know what caused him more alarm in the next minute that followed; Logan reached for the mirror from his position on the ground and the mirror forming a hand that reached back, or Logan taking the hand the mirror offered and pulling it forward, downing the mirror and rolling out of the way in quick succession that caused both the mirror and marble statues to shatter upon the mirror’s impact against the floor. Though Roman did know that the second the marble had disintegrated around him he was tripping over stone and rug, tumbling up the stairs to grab at the prince who coughed and sputtered like a dying animal. 

In his arms, Roman looked down at Logan and let the tears fall as he fully gathered Logan into his embrace and looked up at Patton limped closer. There was a soft look to his face, a sorrow to his eyes, a deep sadness lurking beneath as if death was an old friend that Patton did not look forward to seeing when they came around. And in some way that may be true, but in that moment Roman could only see the sadness and feel his own pain as one hand slipped down to the bloodied hand that held that dagger high and plunged it into the chest of their enemy, slowly circling the iron band that still rested there, caked in crimson blood. 

There was a shuffling, the sound of hooves on stone mixed with hooves on carpet and a soft, shallow breath out. “Patton.”

Roman glanced up as Virgil, leg thoroughly mangled, looked at the faun with such an emotional, imploring gaze, Roman knew Patton would be hard pressed to answer negatively to it. And yet, “no.”

“He has sacrificed much, and the falcon…”

“The falcon is dead, Virgil. We cannot…”

The pair fell silent before Patton looked over at Roman, quickly looking away as if seeing something that made him sick to his very core, a small part of Roman hoped that was true. The part of him that wished such things upon the faun that had saved his life from a slow, painful burning death of infection, cried out that he feel the same as Roman was feeling now – the dissonance of overwhelming sadness mixed with fatigue and topped off with a hatred that burned low in his stomach and spread up into his chest. He needed someone to feel this, someone to feel it and know how much he wished for the one to cause it to pay. But not Logan, never Logan, no his eyes wandered to the dead body of the man that had caused them so much trouble and he felt nothing but hate. But he couldn’t leave Logan’s body, the prince needed him, his friend needed him, and yet all he wanted to do was race over to the king’s body and tear it apart. 

“Roman? Roman, can you hear me?”

The sellsword started looking up at Patton, now crouched in front of him, one had on his shoulder as the other rested on the ground by Logan’s hip. Something in Roman wanted to stab at Patton’s hand, to harm the thing that dared get too close to his prince, but something – a voice that sounded a little too grounded to be his own – whispered to allow it. 

“Good, you are with us once again”, Patton said with a gentle smile, taking his hand from Roman’s shoulder and looking directly into his eyes, “we may be able to help him, but I will require you to let go of his majesty.”

Roman tensed, arms quickly pulling Logan in at the thought of letting him go, eyes quickly changing from full of confusion and sadness to those full of hatred and a manic possessiveness. No one would take the prince form his arms and live, and yet the same voice in his head, the one too grounded to be his own, whispered for him to once again allow it. So, with a begrudging and cautious nature on display, the sellsword’s shoulders dropped and he nodded once in agreement. Though when Patton offered his own arms up to carry Logan, Roman glared down the offending hands. 

With shaky legs and reddened cheeks, Roman pulled the prince into his chest, cradling him like a newborn babe, before he proceeded to stand to his full height and look down at Patton, Logan’s limp form curling in with the last of its strength. Roman squeezed Logan’s shoulder gently before taking to the stairs, descending quickly and looking at Virgil who nodded at him once and limped ahead towards the entrance they’d knocked down.

_____________

The fae forest was much the same as Roman remembered it; free of all humans and populated by dense foliage, though now there was a lack of anything inherently magical or mythical. Patton had ordered Roman to take a horse back to the forest as fast as he could, to ride as if a life was on the line because it was. Logan was collapsed against his chest, sitting in front of him on the saddle of the horse he’d ridden from Anwir’s castle to the Duhn castle, legs placed either side, one of Roman’s arms tightly wound around his waist to keep him upright.

The promise of the prince’s revival was more than Roman could bear, so much so that he almost fell off the horse when they entered the clearing where the large tree and lake sat. But knowing that one wrong move could result in Logan’s death and if that were to fall on Roman’s head, he knew he would not be able to survive. So, he repeated the instructions Patton had given him, promising to be there with Anwir, though Virgil would trail behind with his wounded leg. 

“To the water, lay him down, leave him there and collect flowers from the tree”, Roman murmured, carrying Logan as carefully as possible across the rock dotted plain towards the lake, tripping only once and righting himself quickly after, “to the water, lay him down, leave him there and collect flowers from the tree. Heaven above Patton, I beg you know what you are doing.”

The sellsword gripped Logan tightly once before kneeling at the edge of the lake, dipping one hand into the waters along with Logan’s legs before he slowly allowed Logan’s torso, chest and shoulders to drop under the water’s surface. He pressed a swift kiss to the crown of Logan’s head before allowing it to slip into the water with the rest of him. Roman wiped a few loose tears away before looking up at the tree above, jumping to his feet and racing around collecting flowers from the sagging tree, more dead than Roman remembered it being. 

Right as he withdrew from a branch, a small collection of flowers cradled in the cloak he’d abandoned at the camp – taken before he left with Patton’s instruction – a horse thundered through the undergrowth, someone rushing up as it turned and slowed to a stop. Patton was at Roman’s side a second later, having jumped from the horse’s back as Anwir pulled into the clearing, looking over the flowers and muttering to himself before he looked up at Roman and nodded, taking the cloak and racing off towards where Roman had laid the prince into the water. 

Roman left the flowers he’d gathered into his hands on the ground, running after Patton as the faun opened the cloak and grabbed handfuls of the flowers, moving into the lake until his legs were half submerged, water clinging to his fur as he dropped the flowers out over the top of Logan’s now completely submerged body, he made quick work of covering Logan’s entire body with the flowers, placing one over every inch that would be exposed to light before stepping back onto a rock, careful not to let the ripples of his movement disturb the process. 

At that second Virgil collapsed next to Roman, biting his lip in pain and watching Patton and the flower body with intense concentration. The same concentration that Roman held and Anwir held as Patton pulled his hooves up onto the rock and grabbed at his hooves with his hands, feather cloak swimming in the lake behind him. 

Every breath Roman took felt like he was swallowing nails, every second an hour before something happened. A ripple stretched from the body of flowers out, then another, and another, before a light began to illuminate the body under the flowers, obscured from sight as the golden light grew in power, enveloping everything under the flowers and slowly stretching out across the lake, Patton pulling his cloak up before it reached him. The light seemed to reflect the sun, the lack made of pure gold though it seemed impossible, but only a moment after it reached the banks it began to recede. 

It finally receded back under the flowers and for a moment Roman’s heart stopped. Then the flowers moved, parting before something pulled up from the water. Logan stretched, yawned and rubbed at his eyes, wound completely healed and, when he finally opened his eyes, two perfectly normal brown eyes looked directly into Roman’s own. Never in the sellsword’s life before or after that moment could he say he felt so relieved. He ignored instinct, ignored what may come of his actions, and raced into the water, picking Logan up under his shoulders and wrapping his friend in a hug that was so tight he was sure it would knock the breath out of the prince. Though he didn’t care, nor did Logan seem to as he squeezed back with as much ferocity as Roman had, the pair collapsing to their knees in the lake as the flowers drifted away like melting snow. 

Roman couldn’t seem to stem the flow of tears after that, even after looking Logan over, hand clasping his cheek and wrapping his arms around him once again, he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing in steady streams down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop himself from once again lifting Logan up, attempting and failing to spin him around in the air as he was sent tumbling into the water, Logan sprawled across his chest as the pair laughed, Logan rubbing his own eyes before wiping away the tear marks on Roman’s cheeks. Try as he might though, Roman couldn’t quell his tears. 

When at last they were able to stand without Roman causing them to fall into the waters again, Roman escorted the prince out of the lake; one hand clasping tightly at Logan’s own as they stepped onto dry land and the prince was whisked into a hug by each of their companions in turn, all shedding tears as they reunited with one thought lost. But at last, Logan returned to the sellsword, gripping his arm tightly. 

As they began their journey back to the horses Logan took Roman aside, holding him in a hug once more before Roman heard a whisper of his own name and ducked his head a little closer to hear the prince speak. “I can no longer see that well.”

It didn’t shock Roman to the core as much as it most likely should have, but after everything that had happened in the span of fewer than two weeks with Logan, he could allow himself to be a little less than shocked, nerves fizzled and fried from the battle and revival of his friend. 

“I will ask Anwir to counsel his workers for another pair of spectacles. He may assume them for Patton, and I will not tell him for whom he is making them if you do not wish me to”, Roman chuckled, smiling down at the prince as he released him and pulled back, offering the horse to Logan and not acting surprised when Logan offered him a hand to join him on the horse ride back to Duhn castle. 

It was a pleasant trip back, quiet by all means, but with the gentle pace of the horse and the shortcut back to the Duhn castle, the journey was quick and over within a half hour. Within that half hour though, Roman allowed himself to lose his mind to the sights and sounds of the forest he’d once deemed so dangerous. Birds nested in the branches, the clouds parted to display a light cobalt sky, the trees swaying with a gentle breeze littered with the sweet scent of the sea and a decidedly earthy smell that came from the decomposition on the forest floor. Everything seemed so much sweeter now; the sky, the birds, the forest, the world. Perhaps it was because he no longer had the threat of death looming over his head, or because he was no longer alone on the journey, Roman could not tell which of those – if either of those – was the answer. 

Duhn castle rose up behind the ridge as they neared it, cleaned free of the tiny mounds of black dust that had become the suits of armour once the castle was liberated of its king, the clouds and darkness had vanished with the breaking of the mirror and all else had been left by the heavily wounded soldiers to be revisited later. Though, Roman figured that one thing could not be left until a later time, fingers dipping into his cloak and feeling out what lay within. 

As they disembarked the horse, leaving it with an attendant, Roman walked to Anwir and proposed his idea. And a week later, after much deliberation by all parties involved, Logan received a crown made of jewel flowers and was coronated as the next King Duhn by King Anwir; his best friend by his side and sworn in as his knight.


End file.
